Chapter 6
The trial was set for three months later.
Three months of waiting.
Three months of wondering if justice would be served.
Three months of living in fear.
Diane didn't stop.
She kept posting on social media.
She started a GoFundMe page.
"Help a grandmother fight for justice," the headline read.
She raised over twenty thousand dollars.
People sent her messages of support.
They called her brave.
They called us monsters.
Some of them found our address.
We started getting letters in the mail.
Letters calling us child abusers.
Letters threatening us.
One letter had a picture of Lily with the eyes cut out.
I called the police again.
But there was nothing they could do.
The letters were anonymous.
No fingerprints.
No return address.
Ryan wanted to move.
"Let's go somewhere she can't find us," he said. "Start over."
But I refused.
"We haven't done anything wrong," I said. "Why should we run? Why should we let her win?"
"Because I'm scared, Sarah," Ryan admitted. "I'm scared of what she'll do next. I'm scared she'll hurt the kids. Or you."
I held him.
"I'm scared too. But if we run, she wins. She gets to say she was right all along. And I won't let her do that. Not to our kids. Not to us."
We started preparing for trial.
Our lawyer gathered evidence.
She found witnesses.
She found the girl from Ryan's high school.
The one Diane had accused of stealing.
She was willing to testify.
She told us Diane had destroyed her life.
That she had to leave town.
That she had lost friends.
That she had lost her job.
All because Diane had decided she didn't like her.
"She's a predator," the woman told us. "She finds people who are vulnerable. Who won't fight back. And she destroys them. You two are the first ones who have ever stood up to her."
Her words gave me strength.
But they also scared me.
Because if Diane was a predator, she wouldn't stop until one of us was destroyed.
The week before the trial, something unexpected happened.
Ryan's father called.
He had been silent since everything started.
He had taken Diane's side at first.
He had told Ryan he was being disrespectful.
Now he was crying on the phone.
"Ryan, I need to see you."
We met him at a diner.
He looked old.
Tired.
Broken.
"I found something," he said, sliding an envelope across the table.
Ryan opened it.
Inside were letters.
Diane's handwriting.
They were addressed to various people.
The church.
Family members.
The high school principal.
All of them filled with lies.
All of them designed to destroy someone.
"She kept them," Ryan's father said. "She kept copies of everything. She was proud of them. I found them in her closet. Along with… other things."
"What other things?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Newspaper clippings. About accidents. About people who had 'mysteriously' gotten hurt after crossing her. I never put it together before. I never wanted to see it. But after what she did to Lily… I can't ignore it anymore."
He looked at Ryan.
"I'm sorry, son. I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should have seen what she was."
Ryan reached across the table and took his father's hand.
"It's okay, Dad. You're here now."
The letters were a breakthrough.
They showed a pattern of behavior spanning decades.
They proved Diane was a serial liar.
A manipulator.
A woman who enjoyed destroying people.
Our lawyer was thrilled.
"This changes everything," she said. "With these letters and the testimony from her previous victims, the jury will see exactly who she is."
But I was worried.
Because if Diane knew her husband had betrayed her…
If she knew we had her letters…
What would she do?
I got my answer two nights before the trial.
I was watching the security cameras.
It was 2 a.m.
I was tired.
I was about to go to bed.
Then I saw it.
A figure in the backyard.
Dressed in black.
Wearing a hood.
The figure was carrying something.
A can of gasoline.
I grabbed my phone.
I called 911.
Then I woke Ryan.
"She's here. She's in the backyard."
Ryan ran to the window.
The figure was pouring gasoline along the back of the house.
"Oh my God," Ryan whispered.
He ran to get the baseball bat he kept by the door.
"No," I said. "The police are coming. Don't go out there."
But Ryan was already opening the door.
"Hey!" he shouted.
The figure looked up.
For a split second, the porch light caught her face.
It was Diane.
She dropped the gasoline can.
She ran.
Ryan chased her.
But she was gone.
Disappeared into the darkness.
The police arrived minutes later.
They found the gasoline can.
They found the trail of fuel along our back wall.
They found a lighter in the grass.
May you like
Diane had tried to burn down our house.
With our children inside.
