The Girl They Blamed

The Girl They Blamed

Gavin

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I was just sixteen when Hurricane Haven swept away everything, leaving me an orphan clinging to wreckage. Then, with kind hands, Ethan Harrison pulled me from the churning water, and his family became my beacon, my home. For four years, they rebuilt my world, filling it with a love I hadn't known since my own mother died, a future with Ethan by my side. He gave me a compass necklace, promising, "So you always find your way. Our way." But that same night, our future shattered. The Harrison house, once filled with light, became a tomb for thirteen souls, brutally murdered. And they said Sarah Miller did it. Me. The girl they saved, the daughter they adopted. The accusation was a physical blow, stealing my breath, my voice, my hope. The town that had embraced me now bayed for my blood, branding me a monster. Trapped in a cold cell, I endured a year of relentless interrogations and public scorn, my silence misinterpreted as guilt. How could the man I loved, the one who saved me, believe I could commit such an atrocity? How could they all be so wrong, so blind to the truth of what I sacrificed? What was there to say, when the world had already decided my fate? Now, strapped to a cold chair, electrodes tracing my thoughts, they're forcing me into a dangerous experiment: "Traumatic Memory Unveiling." They want answers. But the truth hidden within my shattered memories is far more terrifying, a story of loyalty, betrayal, and a sinister conspiracy I kept silent to protect them-a silence that might just kill me.

Introduction

I was sixteen when Hurricane Haven ripped my life apart, leaving me an orphan clinging to wreckage. The Harrison family, wealthy and kind, became my harbor. Ethan Harrison, the paramedic who pulled me from the churning water, promised a future. Four years later, under a clear sky, he gave me a compass necklace, saying, "So you always find your way. Our way." Hope bloomed, bright and fierce.

That same night, the hope shattered. Their home, a place of laughter, became a tomb for thirteen bludgeoned souls. The weapon, they said, was Mr. Harrison's prize statue. And they said I did it-the girl they'd saved, the daughter they'd adopted.

The accusation was a physical blow, stealing my breath, my voice. The town that had embraced me now bayed for my blood. I was cuffed, my compass necklace ripped from my neck, thrown into a cold cell. Interrogations were relentless, turning days into weeks, months, then a year of stoic silence.

Ethan, consumed by grief, couldn't let it go. He dragged me into an experimental, dangerous procedure: Traumatic Memory Unveiling. He wanted answers, closure. He was desperate to kill that last, tiny flicker of doubt about the girl he had loved, the girl he now believed had destroyed everything.

In that cold, clinical chamber, tethered and exposed, I knew my silence would either condemn me forever or expose a truth far more twisted than any of them could imagine. Because they saw a monster. They didn't see the silent sacrifices, the horrifying choices I made to protect the Harrisons. And now, the true depths of their betrayals, and mine, were about to be unveiled, for everyone to see.

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I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.

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