Chapter 10
The beach was everything Lily had dreamed of.
We stayed in a little cottage right on the sand. Blue shutters. A porch with rocking chairs. The sound of the waves crashing loud enough to hear through the walls.
The first morning, Lily ran out of the house before the sun was even up. Wearing her new pink swimsuit, a bucket and spade in each hand.
She ran straight into the water. Screamed when the cold waves hit her legs. Fell down. Got back up. Ran again.
Daniel chased her. Splashed her. She splashed him back. Laughed so hard she could barely stand.
I sat on the porch. Drank coffee. Watched them. Happy. So happy my chest felt full.
That week, we did everything.
Built the biggest sandcastle on the beach. Put a tiny flag on top that said OUR FAMILY.
Collected seashells. Lily filled a whole bucket with them. Said she was gonna make a necklace for me. A bracelet for Daniel. A picture frame for her room.
Daniel taught her to skip stones. She was terrible at first. The stones just sank. But she tried a hundred times. Finally, one skipped three times. She yelled so loud the seagulls flew away.
We had a bonfire on the beach our last night. Roasted marshmallows. Made s’mores. Lily got chocolate all over her face.
We sat on a blanket. Watched the stars come out. Bright. Millions of them. No city lights to dim them.
Lily pointed to the brightest one. Low on the horizon.
“That’s my courage star,” she said. Serious.
“Your what?” Daniel said.
“My courage star,” she said. “When I was with Mark, I was so scared I couldn’t breathe. But every night, I’d look out the window and find that star. And I’d tell myself, if that star can keep shining, so can I. And then you came. And you found me. And now the star is still here. But I don’t need it as much anymore. Because I have you.”
I cried. Daniel cried. Even the waves seemed to go quiet, like they were listening.
I pulled her into my lap. Held her tight.
“You are the bravest person I’ve ever known,” I said.
She nodded. Serious.
“I know,” she said. “But it’s easier to be brave when you have people who love you.”
She was right.
We drove home a week later. The car was full of seashells. Sand. Sticky s’mores wrappers. Happy memories.
Life went back to normal. But better. Brighter.
Lily turned 10. We had a big party. Unicorn theme, of course. She blew out the candles. Wished for a puppy.
We got her a golden retriever puppy a week later. She named him Sunny. Because he was yellow. And happy. And made every day brighter.
Sunny slept at the foot of her bed every night. Followed her everywhere. To school. To soccer practice. Even to the bathroom.
Lily loved him more than anything. Well, almost anything.
“Daddy?” she said one night at dinner.
“Yeah, bug?” Daniel said.
“Will you teach me to build a treehouse?” she said.
Daniel’s face lit up. He loved building things.
“Absolutely,” he said. “Tomorrow. First thing.”
They spent every weekend for a month building it. In the big oak tree in the backyard.
Lily hammered. Painted. Carried wood. Got splinters. Cried a little. Got back up.
When it was done, it was perfect. Two stories. A slide. A rope ladder. A little window with flower boxes.
They hung a sign on the door. Carved into the wood. Painted bright pink.
LILY’S SAFE HOUSE. NO MONSTERS ALLOWED.
That night, we had a sleepover in the treehouse. Brought sleeping bags. Flashlights. Popcorn.
We told ghost stories. Lily’s were the scariest. Even though they were all about a monster named Mark who got locked in jail forever and ever.
We fell asleep under the stars. Sunny curled up at the foot of our sleeping bags.
I woke up at sunrise. Looked at Daniel. He was already awake. Looking at Lily. She was curled up between us, mouth open, snoring soft.
“Remember when she was scared to even be in the same room as me?” he said. Quiet.
I nodded.
“Look at her now,” I said.
He smiled. Kissed my forehead.
“We did good,” he said.
“We did great,” I said.
A month later, Daniel’s dad got out of prison.
He came to the house. Nervous. Holding a box of old photos of Daniel when he was a kid. A stuffed rabbit he’d saved from when Daniel was little.
He apologized. Over and over. For failing Daniel. For failing Lily. For protecting Mark. For everything.
Daniel didn’t hug him. Not at first. Just stood there. Listened.
Then Lily walked out. Holding Sunny’s leash.
She looked at him. Thought for a second.
“Are you Daniel’s dad?” she said.
He nodded. Swallowed hard.
“I am,” he said. “I’m your grandpa. If you’ll have me.”
Lily thought for another second. Then she held out Sunny’s leash to him.
“Sunny needs a walk,” she said. “He likes to chase squirrels. But don’t let him eat them. It’s gross.”
Daniel’s dad smiled. Tears in his eyes. Took the leash.
“I won’t,” he said.
They walked down the street together. Sunny pulling them both along.
Daniel watched them go.
“One step at a time,” he said.
I nodded. Squeezed his hand.
“One step at a time,” I said.
That Christmas was the best one ever.
We put up the biggest tree we could find. Covered it in lights. Ornaments Lily had made. Tinsel everywhere.
Lily woke us up at 5 a.m. Ripping open her presents. A new art set. A soccer ball signed by her favorite player. A bike with sparkly wheels.
Daniel’s parents were there. His mom made her famous chocolate chip cookies. His dad taught Lily to build a fire in the fireplace.
We ate too much. Laughed too hard. Played board games until midnight.
Lily fell asleep on the couch, surrounded by wrapping paper, Sunny curled up on her lap.
Daniel and I sat on the floor next to her. Held hands. Watched the fire burn.
“Remember when we thought our family was broken?” I said.
He looked at me. Smiled.
“Our family isn’t broken,” he said. “We’re just… stronger. Because we had to glue all the pieces back together. And the glue is love. Lots and lots of love.”
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
He was right.
We weren’t perfect. We still had bad days. Days when Lily had nightmares. Days when Daniel’s guilt got the better of him. Days when I was still angry at all the people who’d failed her.
But we had each other.
May you like
And that was enough.
More than enough.
