We're broken, traumatized, but we survived. And we're going to heal together. You'll spend the rest of your life in prison knowing you lost. Knowing that the family you tried to destroy is stronger than you ever were.

The judge sentences Victoria to 25 years in state prison without possibility of parole for 15 years. Given her age, 43, she'll be nearly 60 before she even has a chance at freedom. Court adjourned. Officers lead Victoria away in handcuffs. She doesn't scream this time.

She just looks stunned like she can't believe this is really happening to her. How could the system fail her? How could her wealth and connections not save her? But for once, the system worked.

Justice was served.

Outside the courthouse, media swarms the family. Marcus makes a brief statement with Jasmine and the twins beside him. Today, justice was served. But our fight isn't over.

My wife, Simone Thompson, is still working through a system that wrongfully institutionalized her. There are others like her, trapped in facilities, declared incompetent based on lies and corruption. We're going to fight for all of them. We're going to make sure what happened to our family never happens to anyone else.

The cameras flash. Questions are shouted, but the family walks away together, heading to the car where they'll drive to the supervised living facility to tell Simone the news. Victoria Whitmore was sentenced to 25 years. It's over. They won. But winning Victoria's conviction doesn't solve everything.

The system Victoria manipulated still holds Simone in its grip.

Over the next months, the competency evaluation process drags on. Simone undergoes psychological testing, cognitive assessments, interviews with court-appointed psychiatrists. Each evaluation costs money they don't have. Marcus' finances are still tangled up in legal proceedings.

Victoria had control of his accounts for 2 years. Sorting out what she stole, what she moved, what she spent takes months of work with forensic accountants. They discover Victoria embezzled over $300,000 from Marcus's business accounts. She bought jewelry, vacations, expensive gifts for her friends, all while keeping Marcus drugged enough not to notice.

Some of the money is recoverable. Much of it is gone. The family goes from wealthy to struggling almost overnight. Marcus has to sell the house in Greenwich.

Too many bad memories. Too much money tied up in a property he can't afford anymore. They move to a modest three-bedroom apartment in a diverse neighborhood in Stamford. It's smaller, older, nothing like the luxury they lived in before, but it's theirs, and it's far from Victoria's world.

The twins changed schools. Their old private academy was full of Victoria's friend's children. Maya and Meera faced whispers, stares, questions. Are you the girls whose stepmother tried to kill them?

Is it true your mom was in a mental hospital? The new public school is better, more diverse, more accepting. The twins slowly start to make friends. During this time, Simone continues proving she's competent.

She gets a part-time job at a community center. She attends therapy religiously. She takes parenting classes even though she's been a mother for seven years. She does everything the evaluation board requires and more.

But the board keeps delaying her hearing. One evaluator wants more testing. Another wants longer observation. The bureaucracy seems designed to move as slowly as possible.

Jasmine fights them every step of the way. She files motions, submits expert testimony, brings in advocates, but the system resists change. Then Victoria's family makes a move. Despite their public disavowal, they quietly fund a lawsuit against Simone and Marcus.

They claim Victoria's conviction was unjust, that she was mentally ill herself, that the Thompson family pursued charges out of revenge rather than justice. They demand Marcus return assets they claim Victoria legally owned. It's harassment disguised as legal action. The goal isn't to win.

It's to drain the family's resources, force them to spend money on lawyers instead of on Simone's evaluation process. It's vindictive and cruel, but it works. Marcus has to hire lawyers to defend against the suit. Money that could have gone to helping Simone regain competency instead goes to legal fees.

The twins see their father stressed constantly working multiple jobs now that his career was derailed by the drugging. He lost two years of professional momentum, and his position was filled. He's starting over in his 40s with a damaged reputation through no fault of his own. Some people still blame him.

They ask why he didn't notice sooner, why he didn't protect his wife. The victim blaming is relentless. But the family perseveres. They develop routines. school, work, therapy, visits to Simone.

Slowly, painfully, they start to heal. Then, in June, 6 months after Victoria's conviction, the competency board finally schedules Simone's hearing. It's set for late July. The family prepares intensively.

Simone practices her testimony with lawyers. They gather evidence of her stability, letters from employers, therapists, friends, records of her parenting classes, documentation of every hoop she jumped through. The hearing is in a sterile government building. Simone sits at a table with her lawyers.

Across from her sits the state's attorney, arguing she should remain under legal guardianship. Marcus and the twins sit in the gallery. Jasmine sits beside them holding their hands. For three hours, Simone is questioned about her mental health history, about what happened two years ago, about her current functioning.

She answers every question calmly, clearly. She admits she was gaslit and traumatized, but maintains she was never mentally ill. She explains how Victoria manipulated the system to have her wrongfully committed. The state's attorney pushes back.

If you were coherent enough to know what was happening, why didn't you fight harder? Why didn't you convince someone? Simone's voice is steady but emotional. I tried. Every day I tried, but I was drugged constantly.

When I became lucid enough to ask questions, my medication was increased. I begged nurses to let me call my family. Most refused, believing I was delusional. The system was designed to keep me silent.

And when a wealthy white woman tells doctors that a black woman is crazy, who does the system believe? It's a painful truth. The hearing board, three evaluators, and a judge listen carefully. They review her records.