Chapter 9
Three months passed.
Spring came to Chicago.
The snow melted.
The crocuses pushed through the brown grass.
The trees started to bud.
The girls were thriving.
Lily’s art was taped to every wall in the house.
Drawings of our family.
Drawings of rainbows.
Drawings of bunnies and kittens and princesses.
No more drawings of cardboard boxes or angry ladies with big mouths.
She joined the art club at school.
Her teacher said she was the most talented first grader she’d ever had.
Mia started kindergarten.
She made three best friends on the first day.
She came home every day chattering about recess, about story time, about the goldfish in the classroom.
They still went to therapy once a week.
Dr. Hale said they were healing faster than she’d ever seen.
The nightmares were gone.
The flinching when someone moved too fast was gone.
The fear that I would leave and never come back was gone.
I went back to work part-time.
Three days a week.
No overnight trips.
No long hours.
I was home every night for dinner.
I was home every weekend.
I chaperoned Lily’s field trip to the art museum.
I brought cupcakes to Mia’s class for her birthday.
I didn’t miss a thing.
In April, I launched the Lily & Mia Foundation.
We provided food, clothing, safe housing, and therapy for kids who’d been neglected or abused.
I donated half of my savings to get it started.
Tom, my VP, ran the day-to-day operations.
But I was there every week, talking to the kids, reading to them, making sure they had everything they needed.
I knew what it felt like to be scared.
To be hungry.
To think no one cared.
I wanted to make sure no other kid ever felt that way.
Sarah moved into the small guest house in our backyard at the end of April.
She said she needed her own space, but she was still five steps away if we needed her.
She came over for dinner every night.
She still tucked the girls in most nights.
She was their aunt, their godmother, their second mom all rolled into one.
One night, I was tucking the girls in.
Lily was already half asleep.
Mia was playing with her rabbit’s ear.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Olivia’s never coming back, right?”
I sat down on the edge of her bed.
I stroked her hair back from her face.
“Never. She’s in a place where she can’t hurt anyone ever again. She’s going to stay there for a very, very long time.”
Mia nodded.
She snuggled down into her covers.
“Good,” she said, yawning. “I like our family better now. Just us. And Sarah. And Grandma and Grandpa. No mean ladies.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Me too, baby. Me too.”
I turned off the light, left the door cracked open like they liked.
I stood in the hallway for a minute, listening to them breathe.
Life was good.
Really good.
Better than I’d ever thought it could be after Emily died.
We’d been through hell.
But we’d come out the other side.
Stronger.
Closer.
May you like
Happier.
Together.
