Chapter 10
May 14th.
One year to the day since I’d walked in the front door and found my girls huddled over that moldy loaf of bread.
We had a party in the backyard.
Sarah was there.
My parents.
Mark and his wife and their two kids.
Dr. Hale.
Tom and his family.
All the volunteers from the Lily & Mia Foundation.
We strung pink and purple balloons between the oak trees.
We grilled burgers and hot dogs.
We had a big cake with the foundation’s logo on it: two little girls holding hands under a rainbow.
That afternoon, we cut the ribbon on the foundation’s very first safe house.
It was a big, sunny house ten minutes from ours.
Six bedrooms.
A big playroom full of toys.
A backyard with a swing set and a pool.
It would be home for six kids at a time, kids who had nowhere else to go.
Lily and Mia did the honors.
They held the big pair of scissors together, grinning, as they cut the pink and purple ribbon.
Everyone cheered.
Lily made a speech.
She was only seven, but she stood up in front of all those people like she was born to do it.
“Me and my sister were scared once,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “We thought no one would help us. But my daddy saved us. And now we want to save other kids too. So no one ever has to be scared again.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the yard.
Later, after all the guests left, the three of us sat on the porch swing.
The sun was setting.
Pink and orange and purple streaked across the sky.
Fireflies were starting to blink in the grass.
Mia was asleep in my lap, her head on my shoulder, her rabbit tucked under her arm.
Lily was leaning against me, playing with my fingers.
“Remember when we ate that yucky bread?” she said, quiet.
I nodded.
“I remember.”
“I’m glad you came home early,” she said.
I kissed the top of her head.
“Me too, bug. More than you’ll ever know.”
I paused.
“You know what I learned this year?”
“What?”
“That money doesn’t matter. Deals don’t matter. The only thing that matters is you and Mia. You two are my whole world. Everything I do, I do it for you.”
Lily snuggled closer.
She put her head on my other shoulder.
“You’re our whole world too, Daddy,” she said, yawning.
I sat there for a long time.
Holding my two sleeping girls.
Listening to the crickets chirp.
The house was quiet.
No thumping bass.
No sharp, fake laughter.
No yelling.
No fear.
Just peace.
Just love.
Just us.
I thought about Emily.
I hoped she was proud.
I hoped she could see her girls now.
Happy.
Safe.
Loved.
Strong.
They were going to be okay.
We were all going to be okay.
I stood up, careful not to wake them.
I carried them inside, up the stairs, to their bedroom.
I tucked them in, one on each side of the big bed we still shared sometimes.
I kissed each of their foreheads.
“I love you,” I whispered. “To the moon and back. Forever and ever.”
I turned off the light, left the door cracked.
I stood in the hallway for a minute, looking at them.
My girls.
My whole heart.
Justice had been served.
Olivia and Chloe were both serving thirty-year sentences in maximum security.
They would be old women before they ever saw the outside of a prison again.
They would never hurt anyone again.
My girls were safe.
They were loved.
They were confident.
They were home.
And nothing, ever, would take that away from us again.
I walked back down the stairs, turned off the lights, and went to bed.
For the first time in my life, I knew exactly what happiness was.
It wasn’t money.
It wasn’t success.
It was this.
Two little girls sleeping upstairs, knowing they were safe.
Family close by.
A purpose bigger than myself.
Love.
May you like
That was all I needed.
That was everything.
