My trashy cousin seduced every guy friend I ever had until I introduced her to my friend who’s actually a cop investigating her for fraud. My name is Madison and I need to tell you about my cousin Britney because what happened last month still doesn’t feel real.

I’m sitting in my apartment right now looking at the court summons on my coffee table and I keep replaying everything in my head. How it started, how it ended, and how I finally got my life back. But let me back up way back because this story doesn’t start when Britney moved to Chicago. It starts when we were kids. Britney and I grew up in the same small town in Wisconsin. Our moms were sisters. We spent every holiday together, every family vacation, every Sunday dinner.

When we were little, maybe five or six, we were actually close. We’d play dolls together, have sleepovers, share secrets. But something changed when we h!t middle school. Britney got pretty, like really pretty. Overnight, it seemed she went from being this awkward kid with braces to this gorgeous teenager that everyone noticed, and she knew it. She knew the power she had.

I remember being 13 and watching boys literally walk into walls because they were staring at her. Teachers gave her extensions on assignments. The principal let her skip detention. Everyone loved Britney except me because I saw what she really was. In 8th grade, I had my first real crush. His name was Kevin. He sat next to me in science class. We’d been talking for months. He’d finally asked me to the spring dance.

I told Britney about it because that’s what cousins do, right? You share your excitement, your joy. She showed up to the dance in a red dress, found Kevin, danced with him all night. They dated for 3 months. When I confronted her, she said, “Madison, if he really liked you, I wouldn’t have been able to steal him. I did you a favor. He was weak.” That was her philosophy.

That was always her philosophy. If she could take it, it wasn’t worth having. After high school, we went to different colleges. I thought I was free. I went to school in Illinois, studied graphic design, made real friends, had real relationships. Britney went to Florida and I barely heard from her. Just occasional updates from my mom. Britney was doing great.

Britney had a new boyfriend. Britney was starting a business. Brittney. Brittney. Brittney. I didn’t care. I’d built a life without her in it. Then 3 years ago, my phone rang. “Mads, it’s me,” Britney said. Her voice sounded different, smaller. “I need your help.

” She told me she’d just left an awful situation, a boyfriend who’d turned violent. She had nowhere to go, no money, just the clothes on her back. “I know we haven’t been close,” she said. “I know I wasn’t always nice to you when we were kids, but your family, you’re the only person I trust. I should have hung up. Should have told her to call our moms. Should have said no, but I heard the fear in her voice.

And despite everything, despite Kevin and every other thing she’d done, she was still my cousin.” “Okay,” I said. “You can stay with me just for a little while.” The biggest mistake of my life. Britney showed up at my Chicago apartment 3 days later. Two suitcases, designer sunglasses, and that smile. That same smile she’d had since we were kids. The one that said she’d already won.

“Thank you so much,” she said, hugging me. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.” “Another lie.” “The first week was actually okay. She slept on my couch, made breakfast a few times, said she was looking for jobs. We’d watch TV together at night, and for a moment, I thought maybe things would be different. Maybe we could have a real relationship.” I was working from home as a graphic designer.

Had a good client base, made decent money. My apartment was small but nice. One bedroom in Lincoln Park. Everything I’d worked for. Britney would sit on the couch while I worked, scrolling through her phone. Always on her phone. I’d hear her laughing, texting, talking to people. When I asked who she was talking to, she’d just say, “Friends from Florida.” The second week, Tyler came over.

Tyler Chen, my best friend since sophomore year of college. We’d met in an art history class neither of us wanted to take. He was studying engineering. I was doing design. And we just clicked. spent hours talking about everything and nothing. We tried dating once, junior year. It lasted three weeks. We were both miserable.

Realized we were better as friends, best friends, the kind of friends who knew everything about each other, who could sit in silence, and it wasn’t weird. Who showed up when the other needed them. Tyler had a girlfriend when Britney moved in. Her name was Amy, nice girl, a teacher. They’d been together almost a year. It was getting serious. He’d talked about proposing.

He came over that Wednesday because we had plans to watch a movie, some horror thing he’d been excited about. He knocked on the door at 7:00. I was on a work call in my bedroom. Client from New York who never respected time zones. I heard Britney answer the door. I heard her voice all sugar and honey. You must be Tyler. Madison’s told me so much about you. Come in. Come in. The call lasted 23 minutes.

When I came out, Britney was sitting on the couch next to Tyler. Not just next to him, pressed against him, her leg touching his, her hand on his arm, laughing at something he said. Tyler looked uncomfortable, but also interested. I knew that look. I’d seen it before. “Hey, Mads,” Britney said, not moving away. Tyler was just telling me about his job.

He’s an engineer at some big firm. Isn’t that amazing? We work at the same company, Tyler said, looking at me. Sorry, your call ran long. We can still watch the movie if you want. But the moment was broken. Britney had inserted herself into it, and she wasn’t leaving. Oh, I love horror movies, she said.

Can I watch with you guys? What was I supposed to say? No, you can’t watch a movie in the apartment you’re living in. So, the three of us watched the movie. Britney sat between us, made comments throughout, grabbed Tyler’s arm during the scary parts. I sat there feeling like a third wheel in my own apartment. After Tyler left, I told myself I was being paranoid, reading into things. Britney was just being friendly. 2 days later, Tyler texted me.

Said he couldn’t hang out for a while. Said Amy was feeling insecure about our friendship and he needed to focus on his relationship. I called him immediately. Since when does Amy have a problem with us? We’ve all hung out together. She likes me. I know, Tyler said. It’s just she’s feeling weird about it. I need to respect that. Did Britney say something to you? Silence.

Tyler, did she? She just mentioned that maybe Amy had a point that it’s weird for me to spend so much time with another girl, even if we’re just friends. My bl00d went cold. You barely know Britney. I know, but but what? More silence. Then, “I’ll call you later.” Okay. He didn’t call later. Didn’t text. A week went by. Then, two, I saw on social media that he’d broken up with Amy.

Saw him post about needing to focus on himself. Saw the comments from mutual friends asking if he was okay. And I saw Britney gone four nights that week. Coming home at 6:00 in the Mi morning, clothes from the night before still on. that satisfied look on her face. “Where were you?” I asked one morning. “Out with a friend,” she said. “What friend?” “Just someone I met.” “You don’t know them, but I knew.

I knew exactly who.” A week later, I found Tyler’s jacket in my apartment on the back of the couch. He’d left it that night. We watched the movie. I texted him. You left your jacket here. No response. I called straight to voicemail. Finally, I messaged him on every platform I could find. Tyler, talk to me, please. 3 hours later, he responded. I’ll come get the jacket this weekend.

When Britney’s home, not when I’m home. When Britney’s home. I wanted to throw the phone through the wall. Saturday came. Tyler showed up at 2:00. Britney answered the door in tiny shorts and a tank top. I was in my bedroom, door open, listening. Hey, Tyler said. His voice was different. Soft. “Hey, yourself,” Britney said. Madison’s in her room, but come sit down for a minute. I heard them talking.

Couldn’t make out the words. Then I heard Britney laugh. That specific laugh she used. The one that said she had her hooks in. When Tyler left 10 minutes later, he didn’t say goodbye to me. Didn’t come to my room. Just took his jacket and left. That night, Britney told me she was moving out. found a great apartment. A friend was helping her with rent.

What friend? I asked. She smiled. Tyler, we’re dating now. Isn’t that great? We’ll practically be related if it works out. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Just stared at her. Don’t look at me like that. She said, “You said you guys were just friends and he’s single now. So, what’s the problem? You’re the problem.

” I said, “You’re always the problem.” She laughed. Actually laughed. Madison, you can’t be mad at me because a guy chose me over you. That’s not how the world works. We’re cousins. I said, “So that means I’m not allowed to be happy. Not allowed to date someone I like. You don’t like him. You like taking him from me. Her eyes went cold. Dead.

If he was really yours, I couldn’t have taken him. Think about that. She moved out two days later, took her suitcases and left. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t thank me for letting her stay. I sat in my apartment that night and cried. Called my best girlfriend, Ashley. Told her everything. You need to cut her off. Ashley said completely. She’s toxic. She’s family. So what? Family doesn’t get a free pass to destroy your life. But I didn’t cut her off because I kept hoping it was over.

That she’d stay with Tyler and leave me alone. Tyler and I didn’t speak for a month, then two. I missed him. Missed our conversations. Missed having someone who got me. I tried to move on. Started hanging out with Ashley more. Made new friends. Went on dates with guys from apps. None of them stuck, but I was trying.

3 months after Britney moved out, Tyler called me. Hey, he said. Can we talk? My heart jumped. Yeah, of course, Britney. And I broke up. Part of me felt vindicated, relieved, like maybe I’d get my best friend back. I’m sorry, I said. Don’t be. You were right about her. She was using me. His voice cracked. She needed money for rent. She said for bills. I gave her $10,000.

Mads.$10,000? What? She said she had some business opportunity, some investment that would triple the money. I trusted her. And then she just disappeared. Stopped answering my calls. When I finally confronted her, she said she didn’t owe me anything, that I’d given her the money as a gift. I felt sick. Tyler, I’m so sorry.

I should have listened to you. She played me. And I lost my best friend for a girl who didn’t care about me at all. We talked for an hour. He apologized over and over. Said he’d been an idiot. That he’d let her manipulate him. that he understood if I never wanted to speak to him again. I wanted to forgive him. Wanted to go back to how things were. But something had broken between us.

Some trust, some foundation, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I need time. I told him. I need to think. He understood. Said he’d wait. Said he’d always wait. I thought that was the end of the Britney saga. Thought she’d taken what she wanted and moved on. I was wrong. So wrong. 4 months later, I met Daniel at a coffee shop. I’d gone in to work on a client project. He was sitting at the next table working on his laptop.

We kept making eye contact. Finally, he smiled and introduced himself. Daniel worked in finance, investment banking, wore expensive suits, drove a nice car. Everything about him screamed success, but he was also kind, funny, asked about my work, and actually listened. We talked for 2 hours, exchanged numbers. He texted me that night.

We went on our first date 3 days later. Dinner at an Italian place downtown. He was easy to talk to. Interesting. Interested. By the end of the night, I was already imagining a future. We dated for 2 months before I introduced him to my family. My mom was having a birthday party. told me to bring him. I hesitated, knowing Britney might be there, but my mom insisted. Britney won’t cause any drama, she said.

She’s changed. She’s got a new job. Doing really well. I should have known better. The party was at my mom’s house in the suburbs. I drove out with Daniel. He was nervous, which I found endearing. Kept asking questions about my family. Who’d be there? What they were like? Just one heads up, I said. My cousin Britney might be there. If she is, just be polite, but don’t engage too much.

Why? He asked. I told him the short version about how she’d stolen Tyler, how she’d used him. Daniel laughed. Don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. Famous last words. Britney showed up an hour into the party, wearing a black dress that should have been illegal. Hair and makeup perfect. She walked in like she owned the place. My mom hugged her.

My aunts and uncles crowded around her. Everyone so happy to see her. She was the prodigal daughter, the golden child. Always had been. I watched her scan the room, watched her eyes land on me. Then on Daniel, her expression changed, calculated, predatory.

She made her way over, hugged me like we were best friends, then turned to Daniel and extended her hand. You must be Daniel, she purred. I’m Britney, Madison’s favorite cousin. I wanted to vomit. Daniel shook her hand. I saw his eyes widened slightly. That look, that same look Tyler had. The look every guy got. Nice to meet you, he said. Britney didn’t let go of his hand, just held it, smiling.

Madison has told me so much about you, though she didn’t mention how handsome you are. I stepped between them. Should we get some food? But the damage was done. For the rest of the party, Britney found ways to be near Daniel, touching his arm, asking about his job, laughing at his jokes, making sure he noticed her. In the car on the way home, Daniel was quiet. “You okay?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said.

“Your cousin is something else. She’s something.” All right. She’s single. My heart stopped. “What?” I was just wondering. She was really flirty. I couldn’t tell if that’s just her personality or if Daniel, stop. He looked at me. “What? I was just asking. You were interested. Don’t lie.” I didn’t say that, but he didn’t have to. I could see it in his face.

Could hear it in his voice. Britney had gotten to him in 3 hours. 3 hours was all it took. The next week, Daniel started acting different, working late, not answering texts. When we did see each other, he was distracted, always on his phone. I tried to ignore it, tried to pretend everything was fine, but I knew I knew what was happening.

2 weeks later, I found the texts. His phone was on my counter. He was in the shower. I wasn’t planning to look, but it vibrated and I saw her name, Britney. I picked up the phone, opened the messages, and my world fell apart. Hundreds of texts, flirty, dirty, planning when to meet up, pictures of her, pictures I’ll never be able to unsee.

When Daniel got out of the shower, I was sitting on the couch, his phone in my hand. Madison, he started. Don’t, I said. Just don’t. It’s not what you think really, because it looks like you’ve been sleeping with my cousin behind my back for 2 weeks. He sat down. Didn’t try to deny it. Just sat there looking guilty. I’m sorry, he said finally. I don’t know what happened. She just she got under my skin.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her, so you cheated on me. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She texted me after the party. Said she wanted to apologize for being flirty. We were just talking at first. Then we met up for coffee. Then get out. I said, “Madison, please get out.” He left. Didn’t try to explain more. Didn’t fight for me.

Just took his stuff and walked out of my apartment and my life. I called Britney. She answered on the first ring. Hey, cuz. She said, “What’s up? What’s up? Are you serious right now?” “Oh,” she said. And I could hear the smile in her voice. “You found out about Daniel. How could you do this to me again?” “Madison, when are you going to learn? I don’t do anything to you.

I give these guys a choice and they choose me every single time. That’s not my fault. That’s yours. You’re a horrible person,” I said. “Maybe, but at least I’m not pathetic.” She hung up. I sat there in my empty apartment and cried. Not just for Daniel, for Tyler, for Kevin all those years ago. For every guy who’d looked at Britney and decided I wasn’t enough.

I called my mom, told her everything, expected her to be shocked, angry, to take my side. Instead, she sighed. Madison, honey, boys will be boys. Maybe you’re just too available, too easy. Britney plays hard to get. That’s why men want her. Mom, she’s literally destroying my life. That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think? So, you had a couple of bad breakups. That happens to everyone.

This isn’t just bad breakups. This is targeted. This is intentional. Britney wouldn’t do that. She’s family. That’s when I realized my mom would never believe me. Would never take my side because Britney was perfect and I was just Madison. Plain boring Madison. I stopped talking to my family after that. Stopped going to dinners. Stopped answering calls.

They probably thought I was being dramatic, being sensitive. I didn’t care. I was done. Over the next year, it happened three more times. Three more guys I tried to date. Three more times Britney swooped in and took them. There was Marcus, a photographer I met at an art gallery. We dated for 6 weeks. Then Britney showed up at the gallery one night randomly.

She said, “Marcus dumped me two weeks later. There was Ben, a lawyer I met through work.” 3 months. Britney found him on social media. Added him. They met up by accident at a bar. He ghosted me after that. There was Chris, a teacher I met at Ashley’s birthday party. He lasted the longest, 5 months. I thought maybe this one would work. Maybe Britney wouldn’t find out about him, but she did. She always did.

Showed up at his school one day. Said she was my cousin and needed to drop something off for me. Got his number. Within 3 weeks, he was gone. I stopped dating after that. Stopped going out. Stopped trying. What was the point? Britney would just take whoever I found. It was like she had a radar. Like she could sense when I was happy and made it her mission to destroy it. My friends started avoiding me.

Not because they didn’t care, but because being my friend meant potentially meeting Britney and nobody wanted that. Ashley tried. She really did. But after Britney h!t on her boyfriend at a party, even Ashley started keeping her distance. Was alone. Completely alone. And Britney was winning. I started seeing a therapist, Dr. Hang. She listened to everything.

The whole sad story. You need to set boundaries. She said, “Cut your cousin out of your life completely.” I have. She’s the one who keeps finding ways in. Then you need to stop letting her. Stop introducing her to people. Stop telling your family about your relationships. Create a life she can’t access. But how do I do that? She finds out everything.

She’s always watching. Dr. Hang leaned forward. Madison, I want you to hear this. What your cousin is doing is abusive. It’s predatory. You’re not the problem here. She is. It was the first time anyone had said that to me. The first time anyone had validated what I’d been feeling for years. So, what do I do? I asked. You protect yourself.

Whatever it takes. I didn’t know what that meant. Not yet. But I was about to find out. 6 months ago, I went to a networking event. Some boring tech thing Ashley dragged me to. I almost didn’t go. But she insisted. You need to get out of your apartment, she said. Meet new people. Live your life. So, I went, stood in the corner with a glass of wine, pretending to look at my phone, planning my escape.

That’s when Rachel approached me. You look like you’re having as much fun as I am, she said. I looked up. She was about my age, dark hair, kind eyes. Something about her felt safe. Is it that obvious? I asked. She laughed only to someone who’s also miserable at these things. We started talking, just small talk at first. Work life Chicago.

But then she mentioned she worked in financial investigation fraud cases. That must be interesting. I said it has its moments. Mostly it’s just following paper trails and interviewing liars. She took a sip of her drink. But sometimes you get a case that actually means something where you’re actually protecting people. Something made me tell her. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fact that she was a stranger.

Maybe I just needed to tell someone. I have this cousin. I said. She ruins my life. Like actively ruins it. Rachel listened as I told her everything. The abbreviated version. Tyler, Daniel, all the others. How Britney seemed to target anyone I cared about and nobody believes me. I finished. My family thinks I’m exaggerating.

My friends think I’m paranoid. Rachel had gone very still. What’s your cousin’s name? Britney. Brittney Reynolds. The color drained from Rachel’s face. Actually drained. Are you kidding me right now? She said, “What? Your cousin is Britney Reynolds from Florida?” “Yeah. How did you?” Rachel grabbed my arm.

Madison, I need you to tell me everything about your cousin, and I mean everything. Right now, we left the networking event, went to a coffee shop around the corner. Rachel pulled out a notepad, and started asking questions.

Where was Britney from? What did she do for work? Who did she associate with? How long had she been in Chicago? I answered everything I could. Rachel took notes frantically. Finally, she sat back and looked at me. Madison, your cousin is a criminal. Like an actual criminal. My head spun. What? Rachel explained that Britney was under investigation by multiple agencies. She’d been running romance scams for at least 3 years, maybe longer.

Meeting men, getting them to trust her, convincing them to invest in fake businesses, or giving her money for emergencies, then disappearing with everything. She’s done it in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, and now Illinois. Rachel said, “We’ve been trying to build a case for months, but she’s good. Really good. She never uses her real name with victims.

Has fake IDs, fake business cards, fake everything. How much money?” I asked that we know of. Over $200,000. I felt like I was going to be sick. Tyler. She took money from Tyler. Who’s Tyler? I told her. Told her about all of them. Every guy Britney had taken from me. How she’d asked them for money. How they’d all given it to her. Rachel’s eyes got wider with every name.

Madison, you just gave me four more victims. Four more pieces of evidence. So, you can arrest her? Not yet. We need more. We need to catch her in the act. We need someone to record her making the pitch. Get her on tape admitting to the fraud. She looked at me with this intense expression. And I think you’re the perfect person to help us do that. My heart was pounding. What do you mean? I mean, we set a trap.

We give her a target she can’t resist and we record everything. I don’t understand. Rachel leaned forward. Madison, I have a colleague. His name is Marcus Chen. He works undercover. He’s perfect for this. Successful, charming, wealthy, everything Britney looks for. I started to understand. You want me to introduce her to him? Yes. Let her think.

He’s someone you’re dating or interested in. She’ll come running. We know she will. And when she does, Marcus will be ready. Recording everything, getting her to pitch the scam. And then, and then we arrest her for fraud, for theft, for everything she’s done. I should have hesitated, should have thought about it, about the consequences, about what it would mean, but I didn’t.

I looked at Rachel and said, “I’m in.” The next two weeks were spent planning. I met Marcus. He was actually really nice, mid-30s, good-looking, easy to talk to. He’d worked undercover for 5 years, done dozens of cases like this. “Your cousin has hurt a lot of people.” He told me during one of our planning sessions, “The guy in Florida, the one she scammed out of $60,000.

He tried to take his own life after. Lost his business, his house, everything. The weight of it h!t me. This wasn’t just about revenge. This was about stopping her before she destroyed someone else. “What if she doesn’t take the bait?” I asked. Marcus smiled. “She will. You’re her favorite target. If you have something she wants, she’ll come for it.” He was right. Of course, he was right. We crafted my social media presence carefully.

Posted pictures of myself at fancy restaurants. Bought a designer bag and made sure it was visible. Started posting about a promotion at work, about how well things were going. And I posted about Marcus. The first photo was carefully staged. Dinner at a high-end steakhouse. Marcus in an expensive suit, my hand on his arm.

the caption, “Amazing evening with an incredible friend. Feeling grateful for the wonderful people in my life.” Britney liked the photo within minutes. Within minutes. Then came the message, “OMG, who is that? He’s gorgeous. You should totally introduce me. Lol.” My hands were shaking when I typed back. Just someone from work. He’s actually in town next week for a conference.

Want to get drinks? Three heart emojis. Fire emojis. Yes, I’d love to meet him. I showed Rachel the messages. She grinned. Got her. The next week felt like the longest of my life. Marcus and D. I met up several times to go over our story, how we met, where he worked, his background. It all had to be believable. Britney was smart.

She’d ask questions, dig, look for holes. Don’t worry, Marcus said. I’ve done this before. She won’t catch on. We agreed to meet at a bar downtown, somewhere public but upscale, the kind of place Britney would feel comfortable where she could make her move.

The night of, I almost canled, almost called the whole thing off because despite everything, despite all the pain she’d caused, she was still my cousin, still family. But then I thought about Tyler, about Daniel, about all the others, about the guy in Florida who’d almost d!ed because of her. This wasn’t about revenge. It was about justice. Marcus arrived first.

Expensive watch, designer suit, the kind of quiet confidence that came from money, or at least appeared to come from money. He wasn’t actually wealthy. It was all props. All part of the act. I got there 15 minutes later, hugged him, sat down, we made small talk, laughed to anyone watching. We looked like a couple, or at least like two people who wanted to be. Britney showed up exactly 27 minutes late. She always showed up late.

It was a power move. Made people wait. Made them eager to see her. And when she walked in, every head turned. She wore a red dress that hugged every curve. Hair and makeup flawless. She looked like she’d stepped off a runway. I saw Marcus’ eyes widen. For a second, I panicked.

What if he actually fell for her? What if she was too good even for someone who knew what she was? But then he looked at me, gave the tiniest nod. And I knew he was acting. Just acting. Britney, I said, standing up, hugging her, playing the role of excited cousin. So glad you could make it. wouldn’t miss it,” she said. Then she turned to Marcus, extended her hand, let her fingers linger in his.

“You must be Marcus. I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, which means Madison’s keeping secrets.” Her voice had dropped into that sultry register, that predator voice. Marcus smiled, charmed. “All good things, I hope.” “I don’t know yet,” Britney said, sliding into the booth next to him, across from me. “But I’m very good at figuring people out.

” And she was. Over the next hour, I watched her work. It was like watching a master class in manipulation. every word calculated, every gesture designed to hook him. She asked about his work, his hobbies, his family, listened with wrapped attention, touched his arm, his hand, his knee, laughed at everything he said. Marcus played his part perfectly.

Told her about his work in private equity, how he invested in startups, how he was always looking for the next big thing. I saw Britney’s eyes light up, that spark, that calculation. That’s so interesting, she said. I’ve actually been thinking about starting my own business, but it’s so hard to find investors who understand vision, you know.

There it was, the hook, the beginning of the scam. I excused myself to go to the bathroom. Gave them space. Let Britney work her magic. When I came back 15 minutes later, they were deep in conversation. Britney’s hand on Marcus’ knee, her body angled toward his. Madison, Britney said when she saw me. Marcus was just telling me about some of his investments. It’s fascinating.

Britney has a really interesting business idea, Marcus said. I told her she should send me her business plan. Britney beamed. Would you really want to see it? I don’t want to waste your time. Not at all. I’m always interested in new opportunities. They exchanged numbers right there.

I watched Britney type her name into his phone, watched her pose for a contact photo, watched her send herself a text so she’d have his number. The rest of the night was torture, watching them flirt, watching her work, knowing what was coming, but having to sit there and smile. When we finally left, Britney hugged Marcus goodbye. A long hug. Too long, her body pressed against his. Text me, she said. Not a question, a command.

I will, Marcus said. I walked with Britney to her car. She was practically glowing. He’s amazing, she said. Madison, where have you been hiding him? We’re just friends, I said. She laughed. Not for long, I bet. A guy like that doesn’t stay single. She drove away. I stood there in the parking lot feeling nauseous. Marcus came up next to me.

You okay? Did you record everything? I asked. He nodded. Every word, every gesture, she’s already started the business pitch, the investment angle. We’ve got her. So what now? Now we let her think she’s winning. I play the interested investor. String her along. Get her to pitch the full scam. Once she asks for money, when she gives me fake contracts, we’ve got her.

Over the next month, I felt like I was living in a nightmare. Marcus and Britney texted constantly. He’d show me the messages. They’d gone from professional to flirty to explicit within a week. She sent him her business plan. Some fake consulting firm that helped small businesses with social media. It looked professional, legitimate. That’s why it worked. She was good at this.

Marcus pretended to be impressed. Asked questions, expressed interest. Britney moved fast. Within 2 weeks, she was talking about investment amounts. 50,000 for 20% equity. Returns projected at 300% in 2 years. All lies. Marcus scheduled meetings, took her to dinner, always recording, always building the case. I had to see her during this at family dinners.

My mom insisted on Britney would show up talking about her new boyfriend, her new business, how well everything was going. My mom ate it up. See, Madison, Britney’s doing so well. Maybe you should take some notes. I wanted to scream to tell them all what was really happening, but I couldn’t. Not yet. The hardest part was watching Marcus and Britney together.

Even knowing it was fake. Even knowing he was a cop, it still hurt. seeing her use the same tactics, the same moves, the same words she’d used on Tyler and Daniel and all the others. She invited me to her apartment. Marcus told me 3 weeks in. She said she wants to discuss the investment in a more comfortable setting. My stomach dropped. Are you going? Yeah, that’s where it’ll happen.

She’ll have the contracts ready. Fake contracts. She’ll try to get me to wire the money. That’s when we make the arrest. The night Marcus went to Britney’s apartment. I couldn’t breathe. Rachel and I sat in an unmarked van two blocks away. There was a whole team there. Five other cops, a prosecutor.

Everyone ready? Marcus was wearing a wire. We could hear everything through headphones. I heard Britney answer the door. Her voice was sweet, excited. You made it. Come in. The sound of a door closing. Footsteps. Your place is nice. Marcus said, “Thanks. It’s small but cozy. Want some wine?” “Sure.” The sound of glasses pouring. Then Britney’s voice again. So, let’s talk business.

For 20 minutes, I listened to Britney pitch her fake company, her fake projections, her fake dreams. She was convincing. If I didn’t know better, I’d believe her. Marcus asked the right questions. seemed interested but cautious. The perfect mark. Then Britney shifted tactics. Marcus, I need to be honest with you. Okay, this isn’t just business for me.

I feel like we have a real connection. Like this could be the start of something more. My hands clenched into fists. This was her move. Mix business with romance. Make them think they’re getting both. Make them willing to risk everything. I feel that too, Marcus said. His voice was perfect. Just the right amount of interest and hesitation.

So, let’s do this together, Britney said. Be my partner in business and in life. Take a chance on me. Show me the contracts,” Marcus said. Papers rustling, Britney explaining the terms, the $50,000 investment, the projected returns, the equity split. Marcus was quiet for a long moment. Then, this looks great, but I need to ask you something. Anything.

What really happens to the money? Silence. Long silence. Then Britney laughed nervous. What do you mean? I told you. Office space, equipment, employees. No, Marcus said, his voice changed harder. What really happens to the money, Britney? Because we both know this company doesn’t exist. More silence. I could barely breathe. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Britney said. Her voice had gone cold.

“I think you do. I think you’ve done this before, multiple times to multiple men. You need to leave. I’m not leaving. I’m Detective Marcus Chen with the Chicago I Police Department, and you’re under arrest for fraud, identity theft, and theft by deception.” Britney screamed, actually screamed, the sound of furniture crashing, her yelling.

“This is enttrapment. You can’t do this.” “We can,” Marcus said calmly. “And we are. You have the right to remain silent.” I heard him reading her rights. Heard her screaming over him. Heard other officers entering the apartment. More voices, more chaos. Rachel squeezed my hand. We got her. I nodded.

But I felt numb, distant, like I was watching it all happen to someone else. They brought her out 20 minutes later. Handcuffs. No makeup now, just mascara running down her face, hair messy. She looked smaller, less powerful, just a person. Then she saw me standing there next to Rachel and the other officers. Her eyes went wide, then narrow. Understanding you, she said.

You did this. You set me up. I didn’t say anything. just looked at her. You pathetic [ __ ] she spat. You couldn’t keep a sigh, man. If your life depended on it, so you have to destroy me. You’re that jealous. The words should have hurt. Should have cut deep, but they didn’t because I finally saw her clearly.

Not as the beautiful, powerful cousin who could take anything she wanted, but as what she really was, a scared, broken person who hurt others because she was empty inside. “I didn’t destroy you,” I said quietly. “You destroyed yourself. I just helped the world see what you really are.” They put her in the police car. She screamed the whole way. obscenities, threats, promises that she’d get out and make me pay.

But even her threats were empty, powerless. Rachel put her arm around me. You did good, Madison. Really good. I nodded, but I wasn’t sure how to feel. Vindicated, sad, empty, all of the above. The investigation revealed more than anyone expected. Britney hadn’t just stolen $200,000.

She’d stolen close to $300,000 from seven different men across four states. Tyler had given her 20,000. Daniel gave her 15,000 over the course of 2 months. The others varying amounts. Some had lost their life savings. One guy lost his business. The guy in Florida who’ tried to end his life, he’d lost everything. His house, his retirement, his future, all because of Britney.

The trial took 6 months to start. During that time, more victims came forward. Women Britney had lived with and stolen from. Family members she’d scammed, friends she’d betrayed. I had to testify. Had to sit on the stand and tell my story. Tyler testified. Daniel testified. All seven primary victims testified. I watched Britney the whole time.

She sat there in her orange jumpsuit looking bored like this was all beneath her, like we were all beneath her. Her lawyer tried to argue that she was the victim, that she’d been in abusive relationships and was just trying to survive. That these men had willingly given her money. The jury didn’t buy it. How could they? The evidence was overwhelming.

Fake IDs, fake business documents, recorded conversations where she admitted to the scam. When the verdict came back, I was in the courtroom. Guilty on all 14 counts. Britney’s face didn’t change. She just stared straight ahead like she couldn’t process what was happening. Sentencing took another month. The judge was harsh. Eight years in federal prison.

No possibility of parole before 5 years. I watched Britney’s face when the sentence was read. Finally, I saw a crack. A flash of fear of understanding that this was real, that she couldn’t charm or manipulate her way out. As they led her away, she turned and looked at me. Our eyes met, and I saw it. Finally. Not anger, not hatred, but fear. Pure raw fear.

The woman who had terrorized me for years was terrified. And I felt nothing. No satisfaction, no joy, no revenge, just nothing. After the trial, Tyler reached out. It was the first time we’d spoken since the arrest. Madison, he said. His voice was thick. I’m so sorry for everything, for not believing you, for being so stupid. I sighed.

Tyler, it’s okay. It’s not okay. She destroyed our friendship. And I let her. We both let her. I said, but it’s over now. Can we try again? Can we be friends again? I wanted to say yes. Wanted to go back to how things were, but I couldn’t. I forgive you, I said. But we’re not the same people anymore. That friendship d!ed with who we used to be. He was quiet for a long time.

Then I understand. We hung up and I never talked to him again. Daniel tried to reach out too. Sent me a long email about how sorry he was, how Britney had manipulated him. How he never meant to hurt me. I deleted it without finishing it. Some apologies are too late. Some hurt goes too deep. My mom called after the sentencing. She was crying. I should have believed you, she said.

All those times you tried to tell me. I thought you were exaggerating. Being dramatic. It’s okay, Mom. It’s not okay. I chose her over you. My own daughter. I’m so sorry. We talked for an hour. She explained how Britney had fooled everyone, how charming she’d been, how none of them saw it. I wanted to be angry to tell her that she should have seen it, should have believed me. But I was tired.

Tired of being angry, tired of caring. It’s over now, I told her. Let’s just move forward. My family tried to reconnect after that. Aunts and uncles calling, apologizing, saying they never knew. Never suspected. I accepted their apologies, but I kept my distance. Some bridges once burned can’t be rebuilt. You can accept the ashes and move on, but the bridge is still gone.

Rachel became a real friend, introduced me to her circle, normal people with normal problems, no games, no manipulation, just genuine human connection. I started dating again slowly, carefully. There was a guy named James I met at a friend’s dinner party. He was quiet, steady, worked as a teacher.

Nothing flashy or exciting, just good. When I told him about Britney, about everything that happened, he just shook his head. That’s awful, he said. But you know what? You survived it. You’re still here. That says something about who you are. What does it say? That you’re stronger than you think. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I wanted to. James and I have been together for 4 months now.

He’s met my mom, my friends. He knows the whole story, and he hasn’t run away, hasn’t gotten scared. That’s something. I still think about Britney sometimes. Wonder what she’s doing in prison. If she’s changed, if she feels remorse, probably not. People like her don’t change. They adapt, adjust, find new ways to manipulate the system.

But she can’t hurt me anymore. Can’t hurt anyone else. At least not for 8 years. 3 months ago, I got a letter from her, forwarded from my mom’s address. I almost threw it away without opening it, but curiosity won. The letter was short. One page, one sentence. You always were the stronger one. I read it three times, trying to figure out if it was another manipulation. Another game.

Another way to get under my skin. But I don’t think it was. I think it was the truth. Maybe the only truth she ever told me. I burned the letter in my kitchen sink. Watched the paper curl and blacken and turned to ash. Watched her words disappear. Then I went on with my life, my real life, the one I’m building without her in it. Last week, I ran into Tyler at a coffee shop. Total coincidence. He was with a new girl.

She looked nice, normal. He saw me and waved. Awkward but friendly. I waved back. We didn’t talk. Didn’t need to. That chapter was closed, written, done. I ordered my coffee and left. And I felt fine. Not sad, not angry, just fine. That’s progress, I think. Being able to see pieces of your past and not flinch. Not hurt, just acknowledge and move on.

Marcus and I still text sometimes. He moved to a different department, but we keep in touch. He asks how I’m doing. Tells me about his cases. Normal friend stuff. You ever regret it? I asked him once. Setting up your own friend’s cousin? Not even a little bit, he said. You know how many people she would have hurt if we hadn’t stopped her. How many lives she would have destroyed? He was right. This wasn’t just about me.

It was bigger than my hurt feelings or broken relationships. It was about protecting other people from what I went through. Sometimes I look at the court documents, at the victim impact statements, at the testimony from all those men whose lives Britney destroyed. And I feel proud not of hurting her, but of stopping her. That’s a good feeling to know you protected people.

Even if they’ll never know your name, even if they’ll never thank you, you still did something that mattered. I went to therapy for a year after the trial. worked through the trauma, the betrayal, the complicated feelings of turning in family. Dr. Hong helped me understand that family isn’t a free pass to hurt people, that bl00d relation doesn’t obligate you to accept abuse.

You did what you had to do, she told me. You protected yourself and others. There’s no shame in that. I’m starting to believe her. Last month, I blocked Britney’s prison number. She’d been trying to call. I never answered, but seeing her name pop up still made my stomach turn. Now I don’t even see it. She’s blocked, erased, gone from my phone and my life. That felt good, too.

Taking back that power, choosing who gets access to me. James asked me last week if I’m ready to meet his family, his parents, his sister. The old me would have panicked, would have worried about what they’d think, what they’d heard. If they’d Google me and find articles about the trial, but I said yes, because I’m done hiding, done being ashamed of something that wasn’t my fault. Britney made her choices.

I made mine, and I can live with mine. We’re going to dinner with his family next weekend. I’m nervous, but also excited, ready to move forward with someone who sees me for who I am, not who I was hurt by. That’s growth, I think. Being able to trust again after someone taught you not to. I heard through my mom that Britney’s trying to appeal her sentence. Claims the trial was unfair.

That the evidence was obtained illegally. It won’t work. Rachel assured me of that. The case was solid. Everything was done by the book. But even if it does work somehow, even if she gets out early, I’m not scared anymore because she can’t take anything from me now. I’ve built a life she can’t touch. A circle she can’t penetrate. A wall she can’t break through. I’m safe now. Actually safe.

Ashley and I are planning a trip to Europe next year. Something we’ve talked about since college, but never did. Never had the time or money or confidence. Now we do. Now I do. I’m taking back all the things Britney stole. Not the men. I don’t want them back. But the confidence, the trust, the belief that good things can happen to me. That’s what she really took. And that’s what I’m taking back.

Piece by piece, day by day. I still have hard days. Days when I wonder if it was all my fault somehow. If I was too weak or too trusting or too something. But then I remember what Dr. Hong said, what Rachel said, what Marcus said. Britney was a predator. I was a target. Nothing I did or didn’t do would have changed that. She would have done this regardless to me or to someone else.

At least I stopped her. That’s what I hold on to on the hard days. My mom tried to visit Britney again last month. This time Britney agreed to see her. Mom called me afterward crying. She’s not the same. She said, “Prison has changed her. I didn’t ask how. Didn’t want to know because it doesn’t matter. Whatever Britney is now, whatever she’s become, it’s not my concern anymore.

I’ve moved on and I’m not looking back.” James and I talked about moving in together. It feels fast, but also right. He’s steady, reliable. Everything I needed after years of chaos. We’re looking at apartments in a different neighborhood away from where I lived before. A fresh start, new walls, new memories, new life. No ghosts of ex-boyfriends or manipulative cousins.

Just us and whatever we build together. That sounds good. That sounds like exactly what I need. I deleted all my old social media accounts last week. Started fresh ones with stricter privacy settings. No public posts, no location tags, no information anyone could use to find me. It felt like closing a door, locking it, walking away.

Britney taught me to be careful, to protect myself, to not trust everyone. That’s a harsh lesson, but maybe a necessary one. Not everyone deserves access to your life. Not everyone has good intentions. Some people are looking for what they can take from you. And you have to be smart enough to see them coming. I see them now. The takers, the users, the manipulators.

I can spot them from a mile away. That’s one good thing that came from all this. Clarity. The ability to see people for who they really are, not who they pretend to be. I use that now. In work, in friendships, in dating, I trust my instincts. If something feels off, I walk away. No second-guing. No benefit of the doubt. Just boundaries and self-preservation.

Some people might call that cold, jaded, cynical. I call it smart. I call it survival. I call it learning from my mistakes and refusing to repeat them. Rachel told me last week that she’s using the Britney case as a teaching example at the academy. How to build a fraud case, how to work with civilian witnesses, how to catch a con artist. You’re famous in law enforcement circles now. She joked. I laughed.

But it also felt good knowing that something positive came from all the pain that other people are learning. Other victims might be protected. That’s legacy, I guess. Not the legacy you plan, but the one you leave. Anyway, my story is Britney’s downfall. And maybe that’s poetic justice in its own way.

She tried to write my story as a victim, as someone weak and pathetic who couldn’t keep a man. Instead, I wrote the ending where she’s the villain and I’m the survivor, where she’s in prison and I’m free. That’s the story I choose to tell. James asked me yesterday what I want for the future, 5 years from now, 10 years from now. I thought about it for a long time. I want peace, I said finally. Just peace. That’s it. He asked. That’s everything.

Because after years of chaos and pain and betrayal, peace sounds like paradise. No drama, no games, no wondering who’s going to hurt me next. Just steady, boring, beautiful peace. And maybe that’s the real victory. Not putting Britney in prison, not getting revenge, but finding peace despite everything she did to take it from me. That’s what she couldn’t steal. That’s what I kept.

My peace is mine, and she can never touch it again. So that’s my story. The story of how my trashy cousin tried to destroy my life and ended up destroying her own instead. People ask me sometimes if I regret it, if I wish I’d handled it differently, I don’t. Not for a second, because I chose myself. I chose protection for others.

I chose justice over family loyalty, and I’d make the same choice again in a heartbeat. Some bridges need to burn. Some people need to face consequences. Some stories need to end with the villain in chains. This was one of them. Britney has six years left on her sentence. Maybe more if the appeals fail. Maybe less if she behaves. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. By the time she gets out, I’ll be someone completely different. Married, maybe. Maybe with kids.

Definitely in a different city with a different life. She’ll get out and find that the world moved on without her, that I moved on without her. That the damage she tried to do didn’t stick.

And maybe that’s the real punishment, not the prison time, not the conviction, but knowing she failed, that she tried to break me and instead broke herself. I survived her and that’s something she’ll never forgive. But I don’t need her forgiveness. Don’t want it. Don’t care about it. I have my own life now, my own future. And Britney is just a chapter. I survived. Not the whole book. Just one chapter. The rest is still being written. And I’m holding the pen. 3 months after the sentencing, I got a call from a woman named Jennifer.

She’d been one of Britney’s victims in Georgia. Lost $40,000 to her. I just wanted to thank you, Jennifer said, for having the courage to stop her. I was too ashamed to come forward at first, but when I saw what you did, how you testified, it gave me strength. We talked for an hour. She told me her story. How Britney had befriended her at a yoga class. How they’d become close.

How Britney had cried about needing money for her sick mother’s treatment. All lies, all manipulation. I felt so stupid, Jennifer said, like I should have known better. You’re not stupid, I told her. She’s just that good at what she does. We’ve stayed in touch since then. Text occasionally. She’s rebuilding her life, too. Slowly, one day at a time.

It helps knowing I’m not alone in this. That there are other survivors, other people who understand what it’s like to be targeted by someone like Britney. We’re all healing together. All moving forward together. That’s something beautiful that came from something ugly. James met my mom last month. She was nervous. Kept apologizing for everything that happened with Britney. James was gracious about it. That wasn’t your fault, he told her.

Madison’s told me how convincing her cousin was. My mom cried, thanked him, told him he was good for me. She’s right. He is good for me. Good in all the ways that matter. He doesn’t try to fix me. Doesn’t try to erase the past. Just accepts that it happened and helps me build something new. That’s what I needed. Not someone to rescue me, but someone to walk beside me while I rescue myself.

We signed a lease on a new apartment yesterday. two-bedroom in Wicker Park. Bright, open, full of windows. It feels like starting over, like closing one door and opening another. I’m excited, nervous, but mostly excited. This is my life now. The one I chose, the one I fought for, the one I earned, and nobody can take it from me. I’ve started writing about my experience, not for publication, just for myself.

Getting it all out, processing it, understanding it. Dr. Hang said it would help. She was right. Every word I write is like releasing a weight I didn’t know I was carrying. Maybe someday I’ll share it. Help other people who’ve been through similar things. Let them know they’re not alone. But for now, it’s just for me.

my story, my healing, my journey. Ashley told me she’s proud of me the other day. We were having coffee, just catching up. You could have let this destroy you, she said. But you didn’t. You fought back. I didn’t have a choice, I said. Everyone has a choice. You chose to survive. That takes courage. I’d never thought of it that way. As courage. I just thought of it as desperation, as self-preservation.

But maybe Ashley’s right. Maybe there was courage in it in refusing to be a victim in choosing to fight. I’ll take that. I’ll own that. I’m courageous. I survived. I fought back. Those are things Britney can never take from me. The appeals process for Britney’s case is still ongoing. Her lawyer filed motions about illegal entrapment, about coercion, about her rights being violated.

None of it will work, Rachel assures me. But it still makes my stomach turn every time I hear about it. The idea that she might get out early, that she might come looking for me, but I’m not as scared as I used to be because now I know what I’m capable of. Know that I can protect myself, can fight back if I need to.

That knowledge is powerful. James wants to take me to meet his grandmother next month. She lives in Michigan. He says she’s going to love me. I’m nervous about that, too. Meeting family always feels loaded now, like there’s so much potential for judgment. But James promises she’s nothing like my family, that she’s kind and accepting and won’t ask crying questions.

I hope he’s right, but even if he’s wrong, I’ll handle it because I can handle anything now. Britney taught me that in the worst way possible, but she taught me. I’m stronger than I ever knew. Braver than I thought, more capable than I believed. Those are gifts. Even if they came wrapped in pain, I don’t thank her for them. I thank myself for surviving her, for fighting through, for refusing to break. That was all me. My strength, my courage, my will. She doesn’t get credit for that.

My new apartment has a balcony. Small but enough for two chairs and some plants. I sit out there in the mornings with my coffee, watching the city wake up. It’s peaceful, quiet, mine. No memories of Britney polluting it. No ghosts of betrayed friendships haunting it. Just clean slate, fresh start. That’s what I needed. What I deserve. A life that’s completely and entirely mine.

I saw Daniel’s wedding announcement on social media last week. He’s marrying someone else. Someone who isn’t me. Someone who isn’t Britney. Good for him, I guess. Hope he learned his lesson. Hope he’s better to her than he was to me. But mostly, I just don’t care. He’s part of a past I’ve outgrown, a chapter I’ve closed. He doesn’t matter anymore. None of them do.

Only the future matters now. And the future looks bright. James and I are talking about getting a dog, a rescue, something that needs saving as much as I did. I like the symmetry in that. Two broken things healing together. That’s what love should be, I think. Not two perfect people, but two imperfect people choosing each other anyway.

Building something beautiful from the broken pieces. Rachel’s been promoted at work. She’s now leading the fraud division. Says she’s using everything she learned from the Britney case to train other investigators. You changed how we approach these cases, she told me, made us realize how important the civilian witnesses are, how much they risk to help us. I never thought of myself as risking anything.

Just doing what needed to be done, but I guess I did risk things. My family’s approval, my peace of mind, my sense of safety, and I’d risk them all again because some things are worth fighting for. Justice is one of them. My mom’s been trying harder lately. Calls every week. Asks how I’m doing. Really listens to the answer. It’s not the same as before.

That trust is broken probably forever, but it’s something. a different relationship, one built on honesty instead of obligation. I’ll take it. It’s better than nothing. Better than pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. She asked if she could meet James. I said, “Yes, we’re planning dinner next month. I’m nervous, but also hopeful. Maybe this is how healing happens.

Not all at once, but slowly in small steps, in tentative conversations, and careful reconciliations. I can live with that.” Tyler got married last month. I saw the photos online. His bride looked happy, radiant. I felt nothing. No jealousy, no regret, no whatifs, just genuine happiness that he found someone, that he moved on. We both moved on, and that’s how it should be. Some friendships aren’t meant to last forever.

Some are just meant to teach you something and then let you go. Tyler taught me about trust, about boundaries, about the importance of protecting yourself, even from people you love. Hard lessons, but necessary ones. The trial was covered in local news. My name was kept out of it, but people who knew me figured it out. I got messages from old friends, acquaintances, people I hadn’t talked to in years.

Most were supportive. Some were judgmental. A few were downright cruel, called me a snitch, said I destroyed my own family. I blocked them all because their opinions don’t matter. They don’t know the full story. And even if they did, their opinions still wouldn’t matter. I know what I did was right. That’s enough. James’ grandmother turned out to be amazing.

She hugged me the moment we met, made me tea, asked about my work, my hobbies, my dreams. Never once mentioned Britney or the trial or any of the hard stuff. Just treated me like a normal person, like someone worthy of love and respect. It was exactly what I needed. She’s a keeper, his grandmother told James when I was in the bathroom. I heard her through the door. Don’t let this one go. I don’t plan to,” James said. My heart swelled.

“This is what healthy love feels like, what normal relationships look like, what I deserve. I’m finally starting to believe I deserve it. Work has been going well. I got promoted last month. Senior designer, more responsibility, better pay, room to grow. My boss said I’d been doing exceptional work. That clients loved working with me, that I was an asset to the company. It felt good.

Feeling valued for my skills, not my ability to withstand manipulation or drama. Just me, my talent, my work. That’s the life I’m building. one where I’m recognized for what I contribute, not what I’ve survived. Though surviving is an achievement, too, I guess. Britney’s first appeal was denied. Rachel called to tell me, said the judge found no merit in the claims that the conviction stands 5 years minimum.

Rachel said she won’t be eligible for parole before then. 5 years. 5 years without looking over my shoulder without wondering when she’ll show up without fear. That sounds like freedom. James proposed last week. Nothing fancy. We were on our balcony watching the sunset. He got down on one knee and asked if I’d marry him. I said yes immediately. Didn’t even have to think about it. This is right. He’s right. We’re right.

We’re planning a small wedding. Just close friends and family. Nothing big or showy. Just intimate and meaningful. The kind of wedding I always wanted but never thought I’d have because I thought I was broken. Thought I was unlovable. Thought Britney had ruined me for anyone else. But she didn’t. She couldn’t because I’m not defined by what she did to me.

I’m defined by what I did in spite of her. My mom cried when I told her about the engagement. Happy tears. Told me she always knew I’d find someone special. I didn’t correct her. Didn’t remind her of all the times she doubted me. All the time she took Britney’s side. Just let her have this moment. Let us both have it. Because holding on to anger is exhausting. And I’m tired of being tired.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. Doesn’t mean pretending it didn’t happen. Just means choosing peace over bitterness. I choose peace. Ashley’s going to be my maid of honor. She cried when I asked her. Said she never doubted I’d end up happy. Even when I was at my lowest, I asked. Especially then, she said, “Because you never gave up. Never stopped fighting for yourself. That means more to me than she knows.

Having someone who saw me at my worst and still believed in me. That’s real friendship. That’s real love. We’re getting married in 6 months. Small ceremony in a garden. Just 40 people. The people who matter. The people who showed up when it counted. Britney won’t be there obviously, but also she won’t be in my thoughts. Won’t be a shadow over the day. She’s lost that power. Lost any claim to space in my head or my heart.

This day is mine and James’s. Nobody else’s. I bought a wedding dress last week. Simple, elegant, not too fancy, just right. The woman at the shop asked if my mother would be coming to fittings. I said yes. She asked about sisters. I said I’m an only child. She didn’t ask about cousins and I didn’t volunteer anything. Some stories don’t need to be told.

Some history doesn’t need to be shared. I’m more than my trauma. More than my past, more than what happened to me. I’m Madison. I’m a designer. I’m a fiance. I’m a friend. I’m a survivor. But mostly, I’m just me. And that’s enough. More than enough.

Jennifer and I met up for coffee last month in person this time. She flew to Chicago for work. We talked for hours. About Britney, about healing, about how hard it is to trust people after being betrayed so completely. Do you ever miss who you were before? She asked. I thought about it. Did I miss the naive girl who believed everyone, who trusted too easily, who thought family was everything? “No,” I said, “Finally. I’m better now.

Stronger, wiser, but sadder,” she asked. “No, not sadder, just realistic. There’s a difference.” She nodded. “I think I’m getting there, too, slowly. We’re all getting there. All of us survivors. One day at a time. The wedding planning has been surprisingly fun. James is involved in every decision. Wants to make sure everything is perfect. This is our day,” he keeps saying. Not just yours, ours.

I love that. The partnership, the equality, the sense that we’re building something together. That’s what was missing with all the others, with Tyler and Daniel and all the rest. They were just passengers in my life, not partners. James is a partner in every sense of the word. My mom’s been helping with wedding planning. She’s trying. Really trying to make up for the past. I appreciate it.

Even if some wounds are too deep to fully heal, at least we’re trying. That’s something. Rachel’s coming to the wedding, bringing her partner, Stephanie. I’ve met her a few times. She’s wonderful. They’re wonderful together. More proof that good people exist, that healthy relationships are possible. That love doesn’t have to hurt. These are lessons I needed to learn. I’m still learning, but I’m getting there. I ran into one of Britney’s exes at a bar last month.

Not Tyler or Daniel, one of the other ones. Alex, the one before me. He recognized me, came over, asked how I was doing. I heard about the trial, he said. I should have said something sooner. Should have warned you, but I was embarrassed, ashamed. It’s okay, I told him. It’s not. She took 15,000 from me, told me she needed it for her mother’s surgery. I believed her, and then she just disappeared. Did you testify? I asked.

He shook his head. I didn’t know about the trial until after. If I had, I would have. I would have helped. We talked for a while, swapped stories, realized how similar they all were. The same tactics, the same lies, just different victims. She’s still in prison, right? He asked. We for at least five more years. He nodded. Looked relieved. Good. Maybe she’ll come out different better.

I didn’t tell him what I really thought. That people like Britney don’t change. They just learn to hide better. But let him have his hope. Some people need it. The dog we adopted is named Scout. Part lab, part something else. Rescued from a bad situation. She’s perfect, loving, and loyal, and so happy to have a home. Watching her bloom over these past months has been healing in its own way.

seeing something broken become whole again. If she can do it, so can I. James is amazing with her. Patient, kind, never gets frustrated when she has accidents or choose things. She’s been through enough. He says she deserves patience. That’s when I knew for sure he was the one.

The way he treats our dog tells me everything I need to know about how he’ll treat our future kids, our future life with kindness, with patience, with love. My therapist says I’m doing well, that I’ve made incredible progress, that I should be proud of how far I’ve come. I am proud. Maybe for the first time in my life, I’m actually proud of myself. Not for what I survived, but for how I survived it. With grace, with strength, with integrity. I didn’t become bitter. Didn’t let it break me. Didn’t turn into someone cruel or closed off.

I stayed myself. Just a stronger, wiser version. That’s an achievement. Britney sent another letter last month. I almost threw it away again, but I opened it. It was longer this time. Multiple pages. She talked about prison, about how hard it was, how lonely. She talked about therapy, about realizing she had problems, about wanting to change. I don’t know if I believe her. Don’t know if it matters.

But at the end, she wrote, “I’m sorry for everything. You deserved better. You always did. I read it three times, looking for the trick, the manipulation, the hidden agenda, but I couldn’t find one. Maybe it was genuine. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, I’m not responding. Some apologies are too late. Some damage can’t be undone with words. I don’t need her apology.

Don’t need her acknowledgement. Don’t need anything from her. I just need her to stay away. And prison is accomplishing that nicely. The wedding is in 2 months. Everything’s coming together. Flowers ordered. Cake tasted. Music selected. James and I wrote our own vows. mine focus on partnership, on building something together, on choosing each other every day.

His focus on the same, on being my safe lace, on supporting my dreams, on loving me exactly as I am. I cry every time we practice. Happy tears, grateful tears. Tears for the life I almost didn’t get because I was too busy surviving to live, but I’m living now. Really living. Not just existing or enduring or surviving. Living.

My dad called last week. We haven’t been close since the trial. He didn’t know what to say, how to process everything. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, he said. I should have protected you. should have seen what she was doing. Dad, it’s okay. It’s not. But I’m here now if you’ll let me be. Of course I will.

He’s my dad and he’s trying. That’s all I can ask. He’s walking me down the aisle, giving me away. Welcoming James into the family. It feels right. Full circle somehow. Starting something new while honoring something old. Ashley threw me a bridal shower last month. Small, intimate, just my closest friends and some family.

My mom came, my aunts, James’ mother and sister, Rachel. Jennifer flew in, we laughed, shared stories, played silly games. It was perfect, normal, dramafree. just women celebrating love and friendship. Everything I needed, everything I deserved. There was one moment, though.

One moment where I looked around the room and realized Britney should have been there in a different life, a different timeline, one where she wasn’t broken and I wasn’t her victim. We could have been close, real cousins, real friends, but that life doesn’t exist. And mourning it won’t bring it into being. So, I focused on what I have instead of what I lost. And what I have is pretty amazing. James’ bachelor party was the same weekend. He came home happy and hung over.

told me about his friends, how they’re excited for the wedding, how they kept saying how lucky he is. I’m the lucky one. I told him we’re both lucky, he said. He’s right. We are two people who found each other at the right time, who chose each other despite the past, who are building something real and lasting. That’s not luck.

That’s work. That’s choice. That’s love. The final dress fitting is tomorrow. My mom’s coming. Ashley, too. I’m nervous and excited. Seeing myself as a bride. Really seeing it. This is happening. My life is moving forward. I’m getting married. Starting a new chapter. And Britney is just a footnote. A mention in passing. A lesson learned.

Not the main story. Not even close. I’m the main story. My life, my love, my future. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters. The universe has a funny way of balancing things out. Of taking pain and turning it into purpose. Of turning victims into survivors. Of turning endings into beginnings. I’m grateful for that.

Grateful for the journey, even the painful parts, because they led me here to James, to this life, to this moment. And I wouldn’t change any of it because changing it would mean not ending up here. And here is exactly where I’m supposed to be. So, thank you, Britney, for teaching me what I didn’t want, for showing me what I deserved, for pushing me to become who I was always meant to be. I didn’t need you to break me.

You just needed me to break you. And I did. And I won. And now I’m free. Finally, completely, beautifully free. And that’s all that matters.