Chapter 6
Jamie came home a week later.
We’d had the whole house cleaned top to bottom.
The living room floor was gone, replaced with temporary carpet until we could decide what to do.
The hole in the foundation was filled in.
But it still didn’t feel like home.
Every time I walked into the living room, I saw the split board.
Heard Jamie’s voice calling for me from the dark.
Jamie had nightmares.
Almost every night.
He’d wake up screaming, sweating, begging not to be put back “in the hole.”
We’d sit with him for hours.
Rock him, sing to him, tell him he was safe.
Lila started sleeping in his room.
Said she needed to “protect him from bad dreams.”
We bought her a small cot next to his bed.
She never complained.
We started family therapy.
Dr. Hale was a soft-spoken woman who specialized in childhood trauma.
She told us Jamie’s fear was normal.
That it would take time.
That we had to be patient.
“Let him lead,” she said.
“If he doesn’t want to talk about it, don’t push. If he wants to sleep with the lights on, let him. He needs to know he’s in control now.”
Mara’s preliminary hearing was two weeks later.
We didn’t have to be there, but we went anyway.
I needed to see her.
Needed to see her in a jumpsuit, in cuffs, behind glass.
Needed to know it was real.
The courtroom was full.
Reporters, neighbors, distant relatives.
Mara was led in.
Her hair was greasy, pulled back in a tight bun.
She’d lost weight.
When she saw us, her face crumpled.
She mouthed “I’m sorry” over and over.
I didn’t look away.
The prosecutor laid out the evidence.
The bank statements.
The text messages between Mara and her ex.
The rope, the rag, the photos of Jamie under the floor.
The room was quiet.
You could hear a pin drop.
Mara’s lawyer tried to argue she was “under duress” from the people she owed money to.
That she’d been “coerced.”
But the texts told a different story.
Mara had planned it for months.
She’d researched how to soundproof a floor.
Looked up “how to keep a kid quiet” online.
She’d even bought the rope and rag from the hardware store a week before she took Jamie.
The judge ruled there was enough evidence to go to trial.
Denied bail again.
As they led Mara out, she yelled my name.
“Please! I’m your sister! You have to forgive me! Mom and Dad were right—you always thought you were better than me!”
I flinched.
So did my parents.
They were sitting in the back of the courtroom.
They’d come to support Mara.
I turned around.
Looked right at them.
My mom’s face was red.
My dad wouldn’t meet my eye.
I stood up.
Took Mark’s hand, then Jamie’s, then Lila’s.
We walked out of the courtroom.
Outside, the sun was bright.
Jamie squeezed my hand.
“Is she gone now?” he asked.
“For a while,” I said.
“Long enough for you to grow up. Go to college. Have kids of your own. She’ll never hurt you again.”
That night, my mom called.
She was crying harder than I’d ever heard.
“We saw the evidence,” she said.
“The texts. The things she bought. We didn’t know. We swear we didn’t know. She told us you were framing her. That you were angry because Mom left you the house. We were so stupid. So, so stupid.”
I held the phone.
Didn’t say anything.
“We want to make it right,” she said.
“Whatever you need. For the kids. For you. We’ll go to therapy. We’ll do anything. Just… don’t cut us out forever. Please.”
I thought of Jamie’s drawing.
Of the four stick figures holding hands.
Family was supposed to be more than blood.
It was supposed to be safety.
Trust.
Love.
Mara had proven that.
But my parents… they’d made a mistake.
A terrible, hurtful mistake.
But they were trying to fix it.
“Come over tomorrow,” I said.
“Bring Jamie’s favorite chocolate chip cookies. The ones with extra chips. And Lila’s favorite lemonade. But if you say one good word about Mara, you leave. And you don’t come back. Understand?”
My mom sobbed in relief.
“Understood. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
We hung up.
Mark was standing in the doorway.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Everyone deserves a second chance,” I said.
“But only one. If they mess this up, they’re gone.”
Mark smiled.
Pulled me into a hug.
“You’re a good person,” he said.
“Better than I’d be.”
I laughed a little.
A real laugh.
The first one in a long time.
May you like
“I’m just a mom,” I said.
“Trying to do what’s best for her kids.”
