My Coworker Sent Me a Photo of My Daughter Standing in 95°F Heat, My MIL Was Supervising

“It proves you were there. Combined with Thomas’s journal, with witness statements about your behavior, with the physical evidence, it’s enough. The police will charge you,” Marshall said.

“Then why offer me a deal?” Harriet asked.

“Because I want Sophie to never have to think about you again. I want you locked away where you can never hurt anyone. A confession means no trial, no testimony, no dragging Sophie through more trauma,” Marshall said.

Harriet considered this. Marshall could see her calculating, weighing options. “And if I confess, you’ll advocate for me?”

“I’ll tell them you cooperated, that you showed remorse,” Marshall said.

Another lie. He’d show remorse for nothing.

“I want immunity for everything else,” Harriet said.

“Everything else?” Marshall asked.

“There were others before Thomas. People who caused problems,” she said it casually, like discussing grocery shopping. “But they don’t matter now. Ancient history.”

Marshall felt sick. “How many?”

“Does it matter? They were all weak, all deserving,” she studied him with something like respect. “You’re not weak though. I see that now. You’re like me. A survivor. Someone who does what’s necessary.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Marshall said.

“Aren’t you? You’re manipulating me right now. Playing predator. Using your daughter as bait to draw me out,” she laughed. “I raised Stephanie to be obedient, compliant. Thought I was doing her a favor. But maybe I should have made her more like you. More ruthless.”

“This conversation is over,” Marshall stood. “The police will contact you formally. Your confession has been recorded. Albert heard everything. You’re done.”

Harriet’s face transformed. Rage replaced calculation. “You recorded me? You think that’s legal? My lawyers will—”

“Washington is a two-party consent state for recording. I informed you at the start of this conversation that I was recording,” Marshall had indeed said it quietly when she first sat down.

She’d been so focused on negotiating she hadn’t processed it. “You continued talking anyway. That’s consent. You bastard. You think you’ve won? I’ll destroy you. Stephanie will never speak to you again. Sophie will—” Harriet screamed.

“Sophie is safe. Stephanie made her choice. And you’re going to prison,” Marshall said.

Marshall walked away, leaving Harriet screaming threats in the park. Albert and Brent met him at his truck.

“Got every word,” Brent confirmed, checking the recording device. “This is admissible. She confessed to Thomas’s murder and implied there were others.”

“Others,” Albert repeated grimly. “Jesus. I’ll start looking into unsolved cases from her past. Missing persons, suspicious accidents.”

Marshall climbed into his truck, suddenly exhausted. “Make sure Sophie never has to hear any of this. Whatever happens, she doesn’t need to know the details.”

“We’ll protect her,” Brent promised.

The confession sparked a massive investigation. Police found three other cases potentially linked to Harriet.

A hiking accident victim from 20 years ago who’d been dating Stephanie’s older brother before he died. The brother, not the boyfriend.

Harriet had lost her son to cancer and blamed his girlfriend for not supporting him properly. A business partner of her late husband who disappeared after threatening to expose financial irregularities.

And a woman from her book club who challenged Harriet’s leadership. Forensic teams scoured the Cascade Mountains.

They found partial remains of Thomas Brennan, enough for positive DNA identification. The cause of death was confirmed as a fall from significant height, with evidence of rope fiber in his clothing matching the cut rope found in the buried backpack.

Harriet’s trial lasted three weeks. Marshall didn’t attend; he refused to give her the satisfaction of his presence.

But he watched the news coverage, listened to the testimony from forensic experts and Thomas’s grieving family. The jury deliberated for four hours.

Guilty on all counts. First-degree murder, tampering with evidence, abuse of a corpse.

Sentencing came two weeks later. Life in prison without possibility of parole.

Marshall was home with Sophie when the verdict came through. They were making dinner together, Sophie carefully measuring ingredients for homemade pizza while explaining everything she’d learned at summer camp that day.

His phone buzzed, a text from Brent. “Life without parole. She’s done.”

Marshall set the phone down and returned his attention to his daughter. “What kind of toppings do you want?”

“Everything. Peppers and mushrooms and olives. And can we do pineapple?” Sophie asked.

“Absolutely. Pineapple pizza is the best,” Marshall said.

After dinner, after Sophie was in bed, Marshall stood on his balcony looking out at the Seattle skyline. He thought about Harriet, about Thomas, about all the people she’d hurt.

He thought about the wolves he’d filmed. How the pack had eventually turned on the alpha when she became too old and vicious, driving her out to die alone.

Justice wasn’t always clean; it wasn’t always fast. But sometimes, if you were patient enough, it came.

His phone rang. Stephanie.

“Hello,” Marshall said.

“I saw the news,” her voice was small, broken. “Mother, she really did it? Killed Thomas? Hurt all those people?”

“Yes,” Marshall said.

“I’m so sorry, Marshall. I should have seen it. Should have protected Sophie. Should have protected you,” Stephanie said.

“You were a victim too,” Marshall said, and meant it. “She had control over you your entire life.”

“I’ve been in therapy. Intensive sessions. Trying to understand,” she took a shaky breath. “I want to see Sophie, if you’ll let me. I know I have to earn it.”

“But we’ll start slow. Supervised visits. You keep going to therapy. You prove you’re ready to put Sophie first,” Marshall said.

“I will. I promise,” a pause. “Thank you for saving her. For being strong enough to stop Mother when I couldn’t.”

After they hung up, Marshall returned to the living room where his laptop was still open. He’d been editing a new documentary, this time about coyotes, showing how they adapted to urban environments, how they thrived despite human encroachment.

The footage was beautiful. The animals were survivors, clever and resilient.

They protected their young fiercely and drove out threats without mercy. Marshall understood them perfectly.

Six months later, Marshall and Sophie stood at the edge of a meadow in Yellowstone. The wolf pack he’d filmed before was denning nearby, and he wanted Sophie to see them from a safe distance.

“There,” he whispered, pointing.