But there was nothing that Maddison wanted.
Maddison watched it all unfold with cold satisfaction, the slow death of her former mother, the helpless pleas, the unraveling of the woman she despised. To her, this was not cruelty, but a form of retribution.
The woman who had taken her life from her, who had condemned her to eighteen years of misery, was finally paying the price. And as Ashley's world crumbled before her, Maddison felt something bloom within her chest, which was disturbingly satisfying and consuming.
As Ashley begged—voice breaking, pride long cast aside—she felt a weak hand close over hers, the one pressed desperately against the bleeding wound.
Her mother's fingers trembled, then gently pulled her hand away, smearing it deeper with blood. Before Ashley could understand what her mother was trying to do, that same hand shifted, pressing Ashley's hand over her mother's chest, guiding her to the pendant hidden beneath her mother's clothes.
