Their Favoritism Resulted In A Cruel Outcome Chapter 21
“They died because of deceit and abuse of power.”
No statue was ever built to praise their sacrifice.
Instead, Charleston built a small memorial garden on the site of the detention center.
The wall there bears the name, age, and favorite things of every victim.
My grandmother liked growing orchids.
My mother was skilled at restoring antique clothing.
Lauren wrote poetry. Rachel had studied nursing. Hannah made apple cider.
Some of the children loved kites. Some loved candy. One had only just learned to write her own name.
They were not the faceless “Worthington women” of the news reports.
Each one of them had lived a real life.
At the end of the memorial wall is the account of what happened—not to praise their courage, but to make sure people would understand that they never should have died.
The state legislature later passed new regulations.
Emergency detention orders now had to be entered into a unified system and separately verified by both the courts and the on-duty prosecutor.
Decommissioned detention facilities could no longer be temporarily reopened by private security companies.
Family members of the governor were barred from any contact with detention arrangements. Restricting the freedom of adult relatives under the pretext of a family crisis would now carry kidnapping liability.
Those regulations couldn’t bring back the dead, but they could help later victims discover fake orders sooner.
When the funeral procession passed Sullivan’s Island, the rain stopped.
The house Connor had prepared for me stood not far away.
The hydrangeas in the yard were in full bloom.
He had planned for me to live there.
Once Blair’s emotions had stabilized, they would decide whether I was allowed to return to Charleston.
He thought I would keep waiting.
Just as I had so many times before—if he told me to “bear with it this once,” I would wipe away my tears and nod.
That house never got a mistress.
Daniel sold the property and gave the money to an organization that helped kidnapping victims. The hydrangeas were left where they were, and every summer afterward, they still bloomed all along the fence.
No one ever called it Connor Winthrop’s house again.