He Tried to Kill Me for the Insurance Money - Chapter 10: Chapter 10

A harsh, disbelieving laugh escaped me—the kind that tasted like bile.
"Still playing the victim, Victor? After all this time, you still can't own up to what you've done. It's always someone else's fault, isn't it?"
His face twisted—confusion, then regret, flickering like a dying light.
"From the very beginning, you lied to me. Ruby sent you, and you knew exactly what she'd done to my sister. You could've told me the truth. Instead, you married me and kept running back to her. You betrayed me a hundred times over. And after you pushed me into the goddamn ocean, you checked into a hotel with her. You say you love me, but every choice you've made screams the opposite. So tell me, Victor—what right do you have to ask for forgiveness now?"
The words hit him like a physical blow. His shoulders caved in.
"I… I didn't have a choice," he whispered, voice breaking. "I'm sorry… God, I'm so sorry—"
I moved to walk past him. He lunged, grabbing my leg, desperate.
"Please! Don't leave me! My father died while I was in prison—stroke. My mother won't even say my name. I've got nothing left, Lillian. No one. Just you!"
I kicked free without a second thought.
"Everything you lost, you earned. The second you decided my life was disposable, we were done. Whether you live or rot? Not my problem. Stay the hell away from me."
He crumpled onto the pavement, sobbing like a child. Not a single shred of pity stirred in me.
After that day, Victor vanished from my life.
A year later, I held my daughter for the first time—tiny, perfect, her fingers curled around mine. The weight of responsibility pressed down, but so did a fierce, bright joy. For a while, I thought about quitting work, staying home with her.
Elliot wouldn't hear of it. "We'll make it work," he said, and we did—tag-teaming parenting and careers, building a life on trust instead of lies.
It was everything I'd ever wanted.
The next time Victor's name came up, it was a cop on the phone.
After prison, he'd spiraled—jobless, drunk, arrested for causing scenes. Then he'd borrowed from the wrong people. When the collectors came calling, he ran out of options.
Jumped from a high-rise.
The officer mentioned letters. Victor had written to me before the end. Did I want them?
"No," I said, immediate. "I have no ties to Victor Bennett. Do whatever you do with dead men's mail."
I hung up and turned back to my family.
Elliot walked in, our daughter cradled against his chest. "Who was that?"
"No one," I said, kissing him.
As I watched them—my husband, my child—I knew the past was finally dead. Our future? It was just beginning.