THE LIE THAT WORE A RING - Chapter 27: Chapter 27
You are reading THE LIE THAT WORE A RING, Chapter 27: Chapter 27. Read more chapters of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING.
The house is quiet. Not with fear—but with peace. The war is over, but the rebuilding has only just begun.
Two weeks passed.
Alina remained in custody. Her lawyers scrambled, but there was no public sympathy this time. No pity for the woman who had lied, manipulated, and finally broken into the home of the man she claimed to love.
The podcast—The Real Winchesters—hit a million streams.
But Nicholas, Ava, and Ethan didn’t care about the numbers. They cared about how it made them feel. Like they’d reclaimed something stolen. Their truth. Their voice.
Their family.
The house began to change.
The hallway where Alina had screamed her final words? Repainted. The shattered mirror replaced by a solid wooden frame with a carved inscription:
“Let the truth reflect us.”
Ava chose the quote.
Ethan rolled his eyes but secretly liked it.
Sunday mornings returned.
Slow breakfasts. Classical music. Orange juice. Laughter.
Ava baked again—burned half the batch, but no one cared. Ethan helped Nicholas fix the swing in the backyard. The one they’d ignored during the chaos.
It creaked a little but still held strong.
Like them.
A letter arrived midweek.
From Alina.
Unopened.
Nicholas stared at it for a long moment before sliding it into the fire.
He said nothing. Neither did the kids.
Some doors don’t need to be slammed.
They just need to be locked.
Therapy continued. Not because they were broken—but because healing needed guidance.
“I feel like I wasted years of my life,” Ava admitted one session. “I was a puppet.”
Dr. Harris smiled gently. “Then make sure your strings stay cut. You were manipulated, Ava. That’s not weakness—it’s proof of how deeply you feel. And how deeply you survived.”
Ethan spoke less, but when he did, it mattered.
“I still check the cameras every night,” he said. “Like part of me thinks she’ll be back.”
Nicholas reached across the couch and squeezed his son’s shoulder.
“She won’t,” he said.
But if she did, they were ready.
On Saturday, Nicholas did something unexpected.
He invited his sister, Dana, over. The one he hadn’t seen since the wedding—Alina had cut her out early.
Ava was surprised. Ethan was suspicious.
But Dana walked in with a pie, warm hugs, and teary eyes.
“I should’ve fought harder to stay in your lives,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re here now,” Ava replied, and that was enough.
Later that evening, Nicholas sat in his study, a glass of wine in hand.
The family portrait above the fireplace had been removed.
In its place was a collage Ava had made—photos, sketches, letters.
Moments of truth.
Not perfect smiles, but real ones.
Ethan joined him, tossing a blanket over his shoulder like a cape.
“You look like a tired king,” he said.
Nicholas chuckled. “I feel like one. A king who’s rebuilding a kingdom out of love, not fear.”
“Then you’re doing it right,” Ethan said softly.
Outside, Ava swung gently on the newly repaired bench.
In her hand was a notebook.
Not a sketchbook this time.
A journal.
On the first page, in big letters, she wrote:
“This is where the story really starts.”
Two weeks passed.
Alina remained in custody. Her lawyers scrambled, but there was no public sympathy this time. No pity for the woman who had lied, manipulated, and finally broken into the home of the man she claimed to love.
The podcast—The Real Winchesters—hit a million streams.
But Nicholas, Ava, and Ethan didn’t care about the numbers. They cared about how it made them feel. Like they’d reclaimed something stolen. Their truth. Their voice.
Their family.
The house began to change.
The hallway where Alina had screamed her final words? Repainted. The shattered mirror replaced by a solid wooden frame with a carved inscription:
“Let the truth reflect us.”
Ava chose the quote.
Ethan rolled his eyes but secretly liked it.
Sunday mornings returned.
Slow breakfasts. Classical music. Orange juice. Laughter.
Ava baked again—burned half the batch, but no one cared. Ethan helped Nicholas fix the swing in the backyard. The one they’d ignored during the chaos.
It creaked a little but still held strong.
Like them.
A letter arrived midweek.
From Alina.
Unopened.
Nicholas stared at it for a long moment before sliding it into the fire.
He said nothing. Neither did the kids.
Some doors don’t need to be slammed.
They just need to be locked.
Therapy continued. Not because they were broken—but because healing needed guidance.
“I feel like I wasted years of my life,” Ava admitted one session. “I was a puppet.”
Dr. Harris smiled gently. “Then make sure your strings stay cut. You were manipulated, Ava. That’s not weakness—it’s proof of how deeply you feel. And how deeply you survived.”
Ethan spoke less, but when he did, it mattered.
“I still check the cameras every night,” he said. “Like part of me thinks she’ll be back.”
Nicholas reached across the couch and squeezed his son’s shoulder.
“She won’t,” he said.
But if she did, they were ready.
On Saturday, Nicholas did something unexpected.
He invited his sister, Dana, over. The one he hadn’t seen since the wedding—Alina had cut her out early.
Ava was surprised. Ethan was suspicious.
But Dana walked in with a pie, warm hugs, and teary eyes.
“I should’ve fought harder to stay in your lives,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re here now,” Ava replied, and that was enough.
Later that evening, Nicholas sat in his study, a glass of wine in hand.
The family portrait above the fireplace had been removed.
In its place was a collage Ava had made—photos, sketches, letters.
Moments of truth.
Not perfect smiles, but real ones.
Ethan joined him, tossing a blanket over his shoulder like a cape.
“You look like a tired king,” he said.
Nicholas chuckled. “I feel like one. A king who’s rebuilding a kingdom out of love, not fear.”
“Then you’re doing it right,” Ethan said softly.
Outside, Ava swung gently on the newly repaired bench.
In her hand was a notebook.
Not a sketchbook this time.
A journal.
On the first page, in big letters, she wrote:
“This is where the story really starts.”
End of THE LIE THAT WORE A RING Chapter 27. Continue reading Chapter 28 or return to THE LIE THAT WORE A RING book page.