Michael opened the car door. Cold rain instantly whipped against his face, soaking through his charcoal suit jacket before he even stood up.

Three months later.

The tide was low at the beach house in Watch Hill, Rhode Island. The morning sun sparkled off the Atlantic Ocean, casting a warm, golden glow across the sandy shore and the wooden deck of the seaside cottage.

Michael sat on a lounge chair on the deck, holding a warm cup of coffee, watching his daughters through the glass sliding doors.

Emma and Sophie were sitting at the dining table with Maria, happily painting seashells they had collected on the beach the evening before.

Sophie’s cheeks had returned to a healthy, rosy pink. Her laughter, which had been silent for weeks after that terrible night, was now heard constantly around the house. Emma, while still protective of her sister, no longer had that haunted, adult look in her eyes. She was a child again.

The front door chimed softly.

David Sterling walked into the cottage, carrying a leather briefcase. He looked relaxed, wearing a navy blazer without a tie.

"Morning, Michael," David smiled, stepping onto the deck.

"Morning, David," Michael stood up, shaking his lawyer's hand. "How were the final court proceedings in Hartford yesterday?"

David sat down, pulling out a set of official, court-stamped documents. "It’s completely finalized. The judge signed the decree of absolute divorce and granted you full, unencumbered sole legal and physical custody of Emma and Sophie."

Michael let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. "And Victoria?"

"She accepted a plea bargain," David reported. "Twelve years in federal prison with no possibility of parole for eight years. Richard Vance received fifteen years due to the added corporate fraud charges. Their assets were seized to pay for the legal fees and the corporate investigation."

David paused, looking at Michael carefully. "Victoria asked her attorney if she could write letters to the girls from prison."

Michael looked toward the dining room, where Emma was currently painting a bright yellow sun on a clam shell, giggling as Maria helped her with the paintbrush.

"No," Michael said firmly. "The psychologist said any contact with Victoria right now would severely set back their trauma recovery. When they are eighteen, they can decide for themselves if they want to speak to her. But until then... she doesn't exist to them."

"Understood," David nodded, sliding the custody papers across the table. "Congratulations, Michael. You won."