Chapter 10
Three months later, we moved into our new house.
It was in the suburbs, but not the old one.
A big, white farmhouse with a wraparound porch, a huge backyard, a swing set, and a treehouse Lily had helped design.
There was a big kitchen with an island where we could bake cookies.
A playroom with enough toys to fill a store.
And a master bedroom with a balcony where I could sit and drink coffee in the morning, watching the sun come up over the oak trees.
It was ours.
No Margaret.
No Michael.
No bad memories.
Just us.
The housewarming party was on a Saturday, warm and sunny, the sky a perfect blue.
Uncle Ray was there, flipping burgers on the grill, his wife laughing as he burned the first batch.
My team from the energy company came, bringing Lily a giant stuffed unicorn bigger than she was.
The neighbors brought pies and cakes, welcoming us to the street.
Lily ran around the backyard, her golden retriever puppy, Sunny, chasing her, barking, his tail wagging so hard his whole body shook.
Her hand was fully healed now.
The scars were faint, silvery lines, barely visible.
She didn’t flinch anymore when someone touched her wrist.
She didn’t have nightmares.
She was just a normal, happy five-year-old girl, covered in grass stains, laughing so loud the whole neighborhood could hear.
At two o’clock, a car pulled up the driveway.
Michael got out, holding a wrapped present.
He’d completed twelve of his twenty-six classes.
He’d gotten a job at a construction company, working hard, sending me child support every month on time, plus extra toward the money he owed.
He’d asked if he could come to the party, just for an hour, to see Lily.
I’d said yes.
He walked into the backyard, hesitating.
Lily saw him, and dropped her ball, running over.
“Daddy!” she yelled, throwing her arms around his legs.
He knelt down, hugging her tight, his face lighting up.
“Hey, baby,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“Happy housewarming. I got you something.”
He handed her the present.
She tore it open, gasping.
It was a tiny pink bike, with training wheels and a basket on the front.
“Wow!” she said.
“Can we ride it now? Please?”
“Sure,” he said, grinning.
He took her hand, walking her to the driveway, helping her onto the bike, holding the back of the seat as she pedaled, wobbly at first, then faster, laughing.
I stood on the porch, watching them.
Sunny ran alongside them, barking.
The social worker was there, sitting on a bench, taking notes, but she didn’t need to.
Michael was gentle.
Patient.
Kind.
He was trying.
For Lily, that was enough.
After an hour, he said goodbye, hugging Lily one more time, then nodding at me before he left.
I waved back.
No hard feelings.
No anger.
Just peace.
That night, after all the guests left, after Lily had her bath and put on her unicorn pajamas, we sat on the back porch, eating leftover cake, watching the fireflies blink in the backyard.
Lily was curled up in my lap, her head on my chest, Sunny asleep at our feet.
“Mommy?” she said, sleepy.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are we safe now?”
I kissed the top of her head, holding her tighter.
“We’re safe, baby. So safe. No one is ever going to hurt you again. I promise.”
She snuggled closer, yawning.
“Good,” she said.
“I love our new house. I love our puppy. I love Uncle Ray. I love when Daddy comes to visit. I love you most of all.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“I love you most of all too, baby,” I said.
I looked up at the sky, the stars bright and clear above the oak trees.
I thought of that day, a year ago, when I’d come home early, the strawberry shortcake in my hand, and heard my baby scream.
I thought of the fear.
The pain.
The way my whole world had fallen apart in the space of five minutes.
I thought of Margaret, in jail, where she belonged.
I thought of Michael, trying to be better, for Lily.
I thought of my dad, looking down on us, proud.
I’d been through hell.
I’d fought battles I never thought I’d win.
I’d lost a husband, a life I’d thought I wanted.
But I’d gained so much more.
I’d found my strength.
My voice.
My power.
I’d built a new life, a better life, for me and for Lily.
A life full of love, and laughter, and safety.
A life where we were finally free.
Lily mumbled something in her sleep, shifting in my arms.
I held her, rocking her slow, listening to the crickets chirp in the grass, the wind rustling the leaves.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I didn’t worry about tomorrow.
I didn’t worry about Michael, or Margaret, or what might come next.
I just was.
Right here.
Right now.
With my daughter in my arms, the stars above me, and a whole beautiful future stretching out ahead.
We were okay.
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We were finally, completely okay.
And nothing, and no one, was ever going to take that away from us again.
