As they packed up in angry silence, Trevor approached.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know.”

I shrugged. “You were told a version that benefited them.”

He hesitated. “Is it true she said she didn’t know you?”

I nodded. “To an officer. On my own walkway.”

Trevor looked back at Caroline, yanking decorations from the lawn. His shoulders sagged.

A week earlier, they’d called the police and claimed I was a stranger.

Now, in front of the same lake, the same tent, and the same crowd, the police were calmly explaining that the strangers were them.

And for the first time in years, I felt something clean and unfamiliar.

Not revenge.

Relief.