I Worked 18 Years for His Son, He Pushed Me Off a Roof for Her Chapter 10

I Worked 18 Years for His Son, He Pushed Me Off a Roof for Her Chapter 10

Julian’s social media was buried under tens of thousands of comments — none of them kind. Arthur and Martha were fired from their teaching jobs the same day. The school issued a single statement.

“People of this character have no place in education.” The internet loved it.

Fiona went into hiding, but it didn’t matter. Her name, photos, and history had already been plastered across every forum. The internet dubbed her the Most Toxic Best Friend.

And the baby. Without me paying for the treatment, Fiona and the Thornes could barely keep themselves afloat, let alone care for a child with leukemia. He spiked a fever and didn’t survive it.

Before the dust had even settled, Fiona’s parents came storming in.

They cornered Arthur and Martha, screaming, sobbing, demanding justice for their dead grandson. They wanted a fortune in compensation — and if they didn’t get it, they’d push for wrongful death and gross child endangerment charges against Julian.

They wanted to see him locked away for life.

Arthur and Martha were already hollowed out — barely sleeping, barely functioning. But Martha’s head snapped up the second she heard that.

“Bullshit! Your daughter threw herself at my son! She stabbed her best friend in the back, got herself pregnant, and now you want money for it?”

“You’ve got some nerve coming to us for a dime!” Both sets of parents went at each other — no holding back, all fury, all fists.

Arthur and Martha ended up with concussions. Fiona’s parents collapsed mid-fight, clutching their chests and gasping for air, hyperventilating until they passed out. Someone filmed the whole thing, and the city got another spectacle to feast on.

The day of the trial, the sky was clear.

Eleanor sat beside me in the gallery. The courtroom was packed — curious onlookers, local press, cameras rolling.

Julian had wasted away. He looked skeletal, aged a decade in weeks. Arthur, Martha, and Fiona sat in their jumpsuits beside him, staring at nothing.

The judge reviewed the evidence, then brought down the gavel. “The defendant Julian Thorne is found guilty of fraud, aggravated assault, and falsifying records. The sentences will run consecutively. Fifteen years in state prison.”

“The defendant Martha Thorne — assault and obstruction of justice. Four years.”

“The defendant Arthur Thorne — assault and obstruction of justice. Five years. The sentence begins immediately.”

“The defendant Fiona Sterling — assault and obstruction of justice. Three years.” Fiona bolted from her seat before the echo had even died, screaming.

“This wasn’t me! Julian lied to me about everything — I’m a victim too! Can’t you see? I just had a baby — what did I even do wrong?”

No one stopped for her. The bailiffs caught her arms and hauled her toward the exit. As she passed my row, her whole body was shaking. Her head dropped.

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

I said nothing. Across the courtroom, Martha folded onto the floor like her strings had been cut, sobbing until she couldn’t breathe.

Arthur stood rigid, the color draining from his face. Julian’s legs buckled beneath him.

Then Julian’s eyes found mine across the courtroom. “Clara!”

He tore free from the bailiffs, crossed the courtroom in three strides, and dropped to the floor in front of me. He slammed his forehead into the floor — once, twice, hard enough that I felt it through my shoes.

“Clara… Clara, I’m begging you… please, say something… I can’t survive state prison — I can’t do this… I know I was wrong…” He kept going until blood smeared the floor. Just like my forehead had bled against that casket.

But it probably didn’t hurt as much as falling from a high-rise balcony and splitting open against the pavement. I looked down at him.

“The moment you climbed into that casket, you killed everything between us. There’s nothing left but the debt you owe me.” I turned away from him.

I reached for Eleanor’s hand. “Let’s go home, Grandma.”

Eleanor cupped my cheek, warm and steady, and rose with her cane.

“All right, sweetheart. Grandma’s right here. Let’s go.”

“Clara — Clara, save me!”

Julian’s voice followed us all the way to the door, raw and breaking. I didn’t look back. I held Eleanor’s arm and walked her outside.

The sun was going down. Our shadows stretched out ahead of us, tangled together, reaching all the way down the courthouse steps.