Life goes on.

My husband's stepfather has died and his funeral is on Monday. I have never met him but Tom's mother has asked me to go, so I will. Because this man was in a Lodge there will be a memorial and a good turn out is expected. People will say nice things about him and be sad he has gone.
His stepchildren will outwardly show, for their mothers sake, a suitable expression but inside their feelings are the opposite. They will punch the air with glee and celebrate that the bastard is dead. Hoping that now he is dead he will get his just deserts and no fluffy cloud for him to sit on and play a harp.
Oh no Tom's younger brother has the scars on his back and buttocks where the belt lashed and bit into flesh.
Now the Mother no longer has to fear either.
The Bastard was not punished in this life for what he has done but now, now he will be.