I came home early from a business trip to the smell of wagyu and truffles, only to find my nine-year-old daughter eating cold instant noodles alone on the pantry floor while my new wife entertained guests in the dining room.

Maya’s art show was on a warm Saturday in May.

The community center was packed with parents and kids, tables lined with drawings and paintings. Maya’s work was in the front, a series of drawings called “My Happy Family.” There was one of us baking cookies, one of Sunny sleeping on her bed, one of the three of us sitting on the porch, one of Sarah as an angel in the sky.

A woman walked up to me, holding a glass of lemonade. She was tall, with curly brown hair and warm green eyes. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, a smudge of paint on her cheek.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. “I’m Lena. I’m Maya’s art teacher.”

“Richard,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Maya is incredibly talented,” she said, looking at Maya’s drawings. “She has such a way of capturing joy. It’s rare, especially in a kid her age.”

I smiled. “She’s been through a lot. But she’s the strongest person I know.”

Lena nodded. “She told me a little about what happened. She talks about you all the time. Says you’re her hero.”

My throat tightened. “I’m just her dad.”

We talked for a while, about art, about Maya, about the shelter I volunteered at. She was kind, funny, easy to talk to. When Maya ran over, showing us a ribbon she’d won for best series, Lena knelt down and hugged her.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

Maya beamed.

After the show, we went out for ice cream. Margaret came with us, and Lena joined us, laughing at Maya’s stories about Sunny stealing her homework.

I watched them together, Lena and Maya, talking and laughing, and for the first time in years, I let myself imagine what it would be like to have someone else in our lives. Someone kind, someone gentle, someone who loved Maya for who she was.

But that was for later.

Right now, I had everything I needed.

That night, we sat on the porch, just Maya and me. Margaret had gone to bed early, and Sunny was curled up at our feet.

Maya was holding her ribbon, twisting it between her fingers.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Remember when I was scared all the time? When I thought Eleanor was going to come get me?”

I nodded, my chest tight. “I remember.”

She looked up at me, her eyes bright. “I’m not scared anymore. I feel safe. With you, and Grandma, and Sunny. And Lena is nice too.”

I smiled, pulling her into my side. “I’m glad, baby. That’s all I ever wanted.”

She leaned her head on my shoulder. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Maya. More than anything in the world.”

We sat there for a long time, watching the stars come out. The air was warm, the crickets were chirping, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.

Eleanor was still in prison, where she belonged. She’d appealed her sentence twice, and both times it had been denied. She would stay there for a long, long time.

Maya was safe. She was loved. She was happy.

Justice had been served.