Chapter 8
We put the house on the market the week after the trial.
We couldn’t stay there.
Too many bad memories.
Every corner held a ghost.
The driveway where Jamie was taken.
The living room where he’d been hidden.
The kitchen where Mara had baked cookies while my son starved under the floor.
We found a smaller house in the next town over.
Bright, with a big backyard and a treehouse in the old oak tree.
The floors were carpeted, soft under our feet.
No oak planks.
No dark gaps.
The kids loved it immediately.
Jamie claimed the biggest bedroom, with a window that looked out at the treehouse.
Lila picked the one with the pink walls and a built-in bookshelf.
Mark and I took the smallest room.
Said we didn’t need much space.
We were just happy to be together.
Moving day was chaotic.
Boxes everywhere, friends and family helping, pizza for lunch.
My parents were there, working harder than anyone.
My dad carried the heaviest boxes.
My mom unpacked the kitchen, humming old songs she used to sing to us when we were little.
By the end of the day, the house was starting to feel like home.
The kids’ beds were made.
The fridge was full.
The TV was set up in the living room.
We ordered Chinese food.
Sat on the floor of the living room, eating out of cardboard boxes.
Lila held up her fortune cookie.
“‘Your family is your greatest treasure,’” she read.
“Ooh, that’s a good one!”
Jamie cracked his open.
“‘The worst days are behind you. The best are yet to come.’”
He looked at me.
Smiled.
“That’s mine,” I said.
Mark laughed.
“Let’s see mine.”
He cracked his cookie.
“‘A happy home is built on love, not bricks.’”
“Cheesy,” Jamie said, grinning.
“But true,” Mark said.
He put his arm around me.
“Very true.”
That night, I checked on the kids before bed.
Jamie was asleep, his stuffed bear tucked under his arm.
The nightlight was on, casting soft stars across his ceiling.
No nightmares.
No screaming.
Just quiet, peaceful sleep.
Lila was curled up with her new art set, a half-finished drawing of the treehouse on her desk.
I tucked her in.
Kissed her forehead.
Walked back to our room.
Mark was sitting on the bed, looking at something on his phone.
“What is it?” I asked.
He held it out.
It was a photo of us.
Taken the day we moved into the old house.
Jamie was five, Lila was three.
We were all covered in paint, grinning at the camera.
Mara was in the background, holding a paint roller, smiling.
I stared at it.
For a long time.
I used to look at that photo and feel sick.
See Mara’s smile and remember what she’d done.
But now… now I just felt sad.
Sad for the sister I’d lost.
Sad for the woman who’d let jealousy and anger destroy her life.
But I didn’t feel guilty anymore.
I’d done nothing wrong.
I’d loved her.
Trusted her.
She’d thrown that away.
Not me.
“Delete it,” I said.
Mark nodded.
Pressed a button.
The photo was gone.
He pulled me into bed.
Held me.
“I love you,” he said.
“More than anything.”
“I love you too,” I said.
We lay there in the dark.
Listening to the crickets chirp outside.
The new house creaked a little, settling in.
It was a good sound.
A safe sound.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in almost a year, I didn’t have a single bad thought.
No what-ifs.
No fears.
May you like
Just peace.
Warm, soft, all-encompassing peace.
