Chapter 10
Three months later.
I stood in the middle of my new backyard, barefoot, dirt under my nails, and planted the last tomato seedling in the raised bed.
The house was small—three bedrooms, two baths, with a big wrap-around porch and a yard big enough for the garden Dad had always said I’d have someday.
I’d sold my half of the construction business to a reputable local company that had promised to keep every single one of Dad’s old employees on staff, with raises. I’d kept the vintage truck, though. It was parked in the driveway, its blue paint shining in the sun.
Grandma had moved in with me.
Her room was on the first floor, with big windows that looked out over the garden. She spent her days baking cookies, tending to her rose bushes, and telling anyone who’d listen about how her granddaughter had taken on the world and won.
Mia was there too, most days. She kept a drawer full of clothes in the guest room, and she’d taken over the old garage as her art studio.
I’d gotten a promotion at work, too. A big one. Running the entire marketing department, with a raise and a corner office with a window.
Life was good.
Really, truly good.
Mom had called me a month after the trial.
She was crying. She told me she’d started therapy, that she was working through all the issues that had made her favor Hannah for so long. She’d sold the big Dallas house, paid off the legal fees, and moved into a small apartment near Grandma’s old house.
“I don’t expect you to let me back in your life,” she’d said. “I just wanted you to know I’m trying. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make this right. If you ever want to talk, I’m here. No pressure. Ever.”
I hadn’t called her back yet.
But I hadn’t deleted her number, either.
Someday, maybe. When the hurt was a little smaller. When I was ready.
Hannah had moved to Florida, last I heard. The restraining order was still in place. I hadn’t heard from her, hadn’t seen her, and I was okay with that. Some bridges were better left burned.
Tonight, the sun was setting, painting the sky pink and orange and purple.
Grandma came out onto the porch, carrying two glasses of sweet iced tea. She set one down on the rail beside me.
“Tomatoes are going to be the best in the county,” she said, nodding at the garden. “Just like your dad used to grow.”
I smiled, touched the old watch on my wrist. The one Dad had left me. It still kept perfect time.
“I hope so,” I said.
We stood there for a while, quiet, watching the sun dip below the trees.
A soft breeze blew through the yard, carrying the smell of roses and fresh dirt and summer.
I thought about that night at dinner. The slap. The cold water. The way I’d felt so small, so alone, like my whole world had fallen apart.
I touched my left cheek.
There was no scar.
Just a memory.
A memory that didn’t hurt anymore.
It was just a reminder of how far I’d come. Of how strong I was. Of how much I was loved.
I had Grandma. I had Mia. I had Dad’s memory, wrapped around me like a hug every single day.
I had a home. A good job. A garden that was going to grow the best tomatoes in Texas.
I had justice.
And more than anything, I had peace.
I leaned my head on Grandma’s shoulder.
She wrapped her arm around me, warm and tight.
“Your dad would be so proud of you, baby,” she said, soft.
I smiled.
I knew he was.
Somewhere, he was watching.
Smiling that lopsided smile of his.
Telling me he’d known all along I’d be okay.
The last of the sun slipped below the horizon.
The first star came out, bright and steady, right above the garden.
I took a sip of iced tea, breathed in the warm summer air, and smiled.
Everything was exactly as it should be.
I was safe.
I was loved.
May you like
I was home.
And for the first time in my life, I knew, without a single doubt, that everything was going to be okay.
