Chapter 7
We brought Tommy home a week later.
The house was warm, the nursery ready, the fridge stocked with every snack Olivia had craved during her pregnancy.
My sister, Lila, who lived in Austin, drove up to stay with us for the first two weeks.
She cooked.
Cleaned.
Held Tommy so Olivia and I could sleep.
She’d been furious when she found out what Mom had done.
Hadn’t spoken to her since the arrest.
“Blood doesn’t mean anything if they hurt the people you love,” she’d said, hugging Olivia tight the day she arrived.
“You’re my family now.
Both of you.
And Tommy.”
Those first two weeks were a blur of feedings and diaper changes and sleepless nights.
But they were the happiest weeks of my life.
Every time Tommy cried, I was there.
Every time Olivia needed something, I was there.
No more leaving for work and wondering if she was safe.
No more checking the camera feeds every five minutes.
No more fear.
Just us.
Just our little family.
Sentencing for Mom was three weeks after Tommy was born.
We didn’t go.
We didn’t need to.
The prosecutor called us that afternoon, her voice warm.
“The judge gave her 18 years,” she said.
“Consecutive sentences on all four counts.
No eligibility for parole for 12 years.
And because of the forgery conviction, she’s been ordered to pay all your legal fees out of whatever assets she has left.
She’s got nothing.
No house, no car, no money.
When she gets out, she’ll have nothing to come back to.”
18 years.
12 years before she could even apply for parole.
She’d be 74 when she got out.
Old.
Tired.
Alone.
She’d never get near Tommy.
Never get near Olivia.
Never get near any of us again.
I hung up the phone and went into the nursery.
Olivia was sitting in the rocking chair, nursing Tommy, her hair in a messy bun, a soft smile on her face.
I sat on the arm of the chair, wrapping my arm around her shoulders.
“18 years,” I said.
“No parole for 12.”
Olivia closed her eyes, leaning her head against my arm.
“Good,” she said.
Soft.
Final.
“I don’t ever want to think about her again.”
And we didn’t.
Not really.
Life moved on.
Fast.
Tommy grew.
Rolled over.
Sat up.
Crawled.
Took his first wobbly steps on his first birthday, Lila cheering so loud the neighbors probably heard her.
We had a big party in the backyard.
Ryan came, bringing his wife and two little girls.
Our lawyer came.
Dr. Hale came.
All the people who’d stood by us when things were darkest.
We ate cake.
Watched Tommy smash a cupcake all over his face.
Laughed until our sides hurt.
That night, after all the guests had left, after Tommy was asleep in his crib, Olivia and I sat on the porch swing, drinking iced tea, watching the sun set over the backyard.
We’d planted an oak tree there a month after we brought Tommy home.
A sapling, thin and wobbly, just like him.
Now it was strong, growing taller every month, its leaves green and full in the summer sun.
We’d planted it over Dad’s ashes.
So he could watch Tommy grow.
“Remember when we thought we’d lose everything?” Olivia said, leaning her head on my shoulder.
“The baby.
The house.
Each other.”
I nodded, wrapping my arm around her.
“I remember.”
“I was so scared,” she said.
“Scared she’d kill him.
Scared you’d believe her and leave me.
Scared I’d be alone.”
I kissed the top of her head.
“I’m never leaving you,” I said.
“Never.
Not for anything.
Not for anyone.
You and Tommy are my whole world.”
She looked up at me, her eyes soft, the last of the fear gone from them.
“I know,” she said.
“I know that now.
You fought for us.
You made us safe.”
I thought about all the mistakes I’d made.
All the times I’d failed her.
All the times I’d chosen my mom over her.
But she was right.
In the end, I’d fought.
I’d chosen her.
Chosen us.
And we’d won.
The oak tree swayed in the breeze.
Somewhere, a cricket chirped.
Inside the house, Tommy made a small sleepy noise over the baby monitor.
May you like
Everything was perfect.
Everything was ours.
