Page 75 of Rest In Peace

"Altered?" Sarah's brows furrowed, a crease forming as if her mind was racing to catch up with the pieces I laid out before her.

I nodded, the grim reality settling like dust in the silence that followed. "I found them at Dr. Hancock's house," I continued, letting each word sink in. "Dr. Pete Hancock. He had them on a flash drive."

Recognition sparked in her eyes, and a connection was made. She knew what had happened to him; we all did.

"Someone killed him too," she whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air.

"Those journals," I said, my voice slicing through the stillness, "they were tampered with… pages replaced, dates altered. Replaced with false diagnoses." I paced a tight circle on the worn carpet, each step punctuating my words. "They fed us Steven's narrative, Sarah. But Victoria—she was in remission. Years ago."

Sarah's hands knotted together, white-knuckled as if holding onto the last shred of a reality she thought she knew.

I stopped pacing and turned to face her squarely. "Victoria should've been thriving, not… not like this."

"I know," she murmured, her voice barely audible. She looked up, her eyes searching mine for a flicker of deceit. Finding none, something within her seemed to break. "I found something, too." Her voice was stronger now, tinged with anger and hurt. "On the day he threw me out. A bag of medication. Steven brought it home from the hospital."

"Medication?" I prompted, though I felt the truth clawing its way to the surface.

"Drugs he used on Victoria." Sarah's breath hitched, her control fraying at the edges. "To make her sick. To keep her looking ill."

"Christ," I exhaled sharply, the pieces clicking into place. There it was—the ugly truth laid bare between us.

"Steven played us all," I added softly, my gaze fixed on her. “He was a sick man. I had to look into it, but it’s a reality. It's not just women who suffer from Munchausen by proxy," I said firmly, taking a step toward her. "Men can harbor that same twisted need to be needed, to orchestrate sickness."

Her eyes, wide with the horror of understanding, remained locked on mine.

"It’s a disease? I didn’t know what was wrong with Steven," she whispered, the name a poison on her lips.

"It is."

I reached out, placing my hand gently on her shoulder. The tremor beneath my fingers spoke volumes. "He took control by making Victoria ill—playing the doting husband. She was sick as a young child; she had leukemia, but he enjoyed the attention so much that he hid from you that she was actually in remission a few years later. He kept making her sick to get the attention he craved from doctors and nurses when taking her to the hospital. The seizures and the unusual reactions and symptoms that they couldn’t quite diagnose were all from the medication he was poisoning her with. And he kept you away from her to remain in control."

"Control…." The word seemed to shatter in her mouth, fragments of the life she thought she had known scattering like glass. "That's why he was always there, always…."

"Playing the caretaker," I finished for her. "While all along, he was the cause."

Her frame shook as if the ground beneath her feet had given way. A sob clawed its way up from the depths of her being, a raw sound that resonated with the pain of betrayal. She looked away, her chest rising and falling in jagged rhythms.

"I was so certain when I found those meds that he was making her sick on purpose, but I thought I had to be crazy for thinking like that," Sarah gasped, the reality of it hitting her like a physical blow. "The appointments, the treatments… It was all him."

"All him," I confirmed, the bitterness of the truth tasting like ash. “You weren’t crazy.”

"I tried to tell everyone, but no one would listen. I tried everything for Victoria…." Her voice broke, the name of her daughter wrapped in layers of guilt and sorrow.

"Victoria was a pawn in his sickness." My voice felt distant and clinical, even as anger seethed within me.

Sarah's face crumpled, and she collapsed into herself, a small, broken figure consumed by the enormity of what she knew. With each ragged breath, she grappled with a reality that had been manipulated beyond recognition—a life torn apart by the man she had vowed to love and trust.

"Steven…." Tears streaked down her cheeks, her body convulsing with sobs that had been held back for far too long.

"Sarah," I crouched before her, my hand finding hers and squeezing tight. “We'll make this right—for you and Victoria."

Adam's shadow loomed over us, a silent sentinel to our charged exchange. His eyes never left Sarah, sharp and calculating, as if trying to piece together a puzzle only he could see.

"Sarah," I began, my voice steady despite the vortex of emotions swirling in the cramped living room. "I've seen what he's done—the lies he's woven into the very fabric of your lives."

Her eyes, red-rimmed and wide, lifted to meet mine. “No one has believed me before.”

"The evidence doesn't lie, Sarah. The journals, the medications—he manipulated them all to paint a picture that served his narrative."

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