“I loved him,” she whispered.

The kitchen light flickered.

Across the table, her daughter stared. “Even after what he did?”

A long silence.

“I knew. Before the arrest.”

The chandelier blinked twice, then held steady.

The girl’s voice cracked. “You let him stay?”

“I was afraid.”

The hallway bulb stuttered, buzzed, then flared.

Outside, fireworks bloomed red and white against the night.

The girl stood slowly. “I won’t be like you.”

The mother didn’t move.

“Good,” she said.

Every light in the house went dark.