Chapter 9
A year later, Sophie turned eleven.
We had her birthday party in the Westside wildflower garden. All her friends from school were there, all the Westside kids, Maria, Lila, the construction workers, even the DA and the mayor. We had a dinosaur-shaped cake (her request), a piñata, and a scavenger hunt where the kids had to find different types of wildflowers.
Sophie ran around all afternoon, laughing, her hair full of daisies, covered in cake frosting. She was happy. She was safe. She was loved.
That was all I’d ever wanted.
After the party, when everyone had gone home, we stayed in the garden, sitting on the stone bench, watching the sun set. Sophie was opening her last present—a big sketchbook and a set of professional colored pencils from Maria.
“These are the best ones ever!” she said, flipping through the pages, her eyes wide. “I’m going to draw every flower in Texas! And every dinosaur! And then I’m going to make a book!”
“I’ll be the first to buy a copy,” I said, smiling.
She was quiet for a second, flipping to a blank page, starting to draw. I watched her, my heart full, thinking about how far we’d come. From that terrible night at the gala, from the fear and the lies and the fighting, to this. To peace. To joy.
“Mommy?” Sophie said, not looking up from her drawing.
“Yeah, baby?”
“Remember the mean lady? Victoria?”
I tensed a little. We hadn’t talked about the Langfords in months. “I remember.”
“Is she still in jail?”
“She is,” I said. “She still has six more years.”
Sophie nodded, her pencil moving across the paper. “Do you ever feel bad for her?”
I thought about it. About Victoria, growing up in that cold, rich house, with a father who taught her that people were disposable, that money was the only thing that mattered. About how empty she’d been, how broken, how she’d never known love the way I knew Sophie’s love.
“A little,” I said, honestly. “Not for what she did. She deserved every bit of what happened to her. But I feel bad that she never got to be happy. That she never got to know what it feels like to love someone more than yourself.”
Sophie was quiet for a long time. Then she tore the page out of her sketchbook, handing it to me.
It was a drawing of the two of us, sitting on this very bench, surrounded by wildflowers. Above us, in the sky, was a little boy with dinosaur wings, smiling down at us. And in the corner, written in Sophie’s neatest handwriting, were the words: LOVE IS THE STRONGEST THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD.
My eyes filled with tears. “It’s beautiful, baby. I’m going to frame it. Hang it right above my bed.”
Sophie smiled, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you too. More than all the wildflowers in the world. More than all the stars in the sky. More than anything.”
We sat there until the stars came out, until the fireflies were blinking all around us, until Sophie was half asleep in my arms.
I carried her to the car, tucking her into her seat, the drawing clutched in my hand. As I drove home, I thought about the future. About Sophie growing up, going to high school, college, falling in love, having kids of her own someday. About all the wildflowers we’d plant, all the drawings we’d make, all the quiet, happy nights we’d have.
The Langfords were a distant memory now. A bad dream we’d woken up from. They couldn’t touch us. They couldn’t touch anyone.
What we’d built was stronger than any name, any fortune, any power.
May you like
It was love. And justice. And hope.
And it would last forever.
