He sculpted her body with surgical precision. But he forgot one thing: confidence has a recovery time too. When she finally healed, she realized—he was the last thing that needed to go. Scalpel to settlement, darling.

We do not reform the incarcerated. We ferment them—chemically weakened, emotionally caged, and then released into a world engineered to fear them. The system was never broken. It was designed to recycle them. And the cage? It never truly opens—it simply becomes invisible.

Wendy doesn’t need a guardian. She needs agency. The right to be eccentric without being silenced. As Britney twirls freely through Instagram, Wendy disappears quietly—legally—without so much as a family visit. We feel everything. We execute nothing. And that, darling, is the point.