Part 4
Growing up, Madison's cruelty had always been shielded by my parents' deliberate blindness. When she was ten, she suffocated my pet hamster because I wouldn't let her play with my dolls. My mother told me the hamster must have gotten sick, and my father bought Madison an expensive toy the next day to 'comfort' her because she was upset by my crying.
When she was sixteen, she stole my savings account card—money I had earned working two jobs for my college fund—and spent it all on a designer handbag. When I confronted her, she threw a glass vase at my head. My parents blamed me for leaving my card where she could find it, stating that Madison just had good taste and didn't understand the value of money yet.
They had spent twenty-four years teaching Madison that her actions carried zero consequences. They had raised a monster, and now, that monster had taken my child's life.
As I sat on the living room couch, staring at the empty spaces in our home, Ethan sat at his desk, digging into the past. He wasn't just focusing on the assault from two days ago. He was building a comprehensive psychological and behavioral profile of Madison Carter.
"Look at this," Ethan said, calling me over to his computer screen.
He had pulled up police reports from Madison’s university days. There were two separate instances of reckless driving and driving under the influence that had been quietly dismissed. There was also a university disciplinary report from a former roommate who had filed for a restraining order against Madison, claiming Madison had poisoned her dog after an argument.
"My parents paid off the roommate's family," I whispered, memories clicking into place. "I remember Madison suddenly changing dorms mid-semester. My mom told me her old roommate was 'crazy' and toxic."
"They covered up her psychopathic tendencies for years," Ethan said, his jaw clenched. "They deleted her mistakes with checks and expensive lawyers. But they can't pay off a feticide charge. The DA is treating this as a high-profile case. They want to make an example of her."
Just then, my doorbell rang.
Ethan immediately stood up, telling me to stay in the kitchen. I watched from the hallway as he opened the front door. Standing on our porch were my mother and father. They didn't look remorseful; they looked angry, panicked, and frantic.
"Where is she?" my father demanded, trying to push past Ethan. "Where is Emily? Tell her to stop this madness right now! The police just showed up at our house looking for Madison!"
Ethan didn't move an inch. He blocked the doorway like a wall of solid stone.
"Get off my property," Ethan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register.
"Ethan, please!" my mother cried, her fake crocodile tears starting up again. "Madison is just a child! She doesn't belong in jail! Think about what this will do to our family's reputation! Emily has to drop the charges!"
"Madison is twenty-four years old. She is an adult, and she is a murderer," Ethan said clearly, ensuring his voice carried across the neighborhood. "And as for your reputation? I suggest you worry about your own legal standing. Because I am currently reviewing the financial transactions you made to cover up her previous crimes. If I find a single thread tying you to obstruction of justice, I will ensure the DA indicts both of you alongside her."
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My father's face turned a deep, furious purple. "You wouldn't dare. We are Emily's parents!"
"You ceased being her parents the moment you stood over her bleeding body and told her to stop faking," Ethan spat. "Now get off my lawn before I have the police arrest you for trespassing."
