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.

We moved into our new house a month later.

It was small, just three bedrooms, with a big backyard and a front porch that wrapped around the side. The walls were painted soft yellow, the floors were warm wood, and there was no pantry big enough to hide in. The kitchen was open and bright, with a big table where we could eat together.

Maya ran through the house the day we moved in, laughing, opening every door and closet.

“Can my room be pink?” she asked, bouncing on her toes.

“Whatever you want,” I said, smiling.

We adopted a dog a week later. A golden retriever puppy, small and fluffy, with big brown eyes. Maya named him Sunny. He slept at the foot of her bed every night, and he followed her everywhere she went.

Maya’s therapist said she was improving. She still had nightmares sometimes, still flinched when someone raised their voice, but she was laughing more. She started riding her bike in the neighborhood, making friends with the kids next door. She even agreed to go back to school, a new one, where no one knew about Eleanor or the trial.

But I still felt guilty.

I’d missed so much. I’d left her alone with that woman. I’d trusted a stranger more than I’d trusted my own daughter.

One night, I was sitting on the porch, drinking coffee, when my mother-in-law, Margaret, pulled into the driveway. She’d been staying with her sister in Florida since Sarah died, and I hadn’t talked to her much during the trial.

She got out of her car, carrying a suitcase.

“Margaret,” I said, standing up. “What are you doing here?”

She walked up to me, her face soft. “I read about the trial. I saw what happened to my granddaughter.”

She paused, her eyes filling with tears. “I should have been here. I should have seen what was going on. I’m so sorry, Richard.”

I pulled her into a hug. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s that woman’s fault. And I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Maya needs her grandma. And you need help.”

She moved into the spare bedroom that night.

Maya ran to her when she saw her, wrapping her arms around her waist. “Grandma!”

Margaret held her tight, kissing the top of her head. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m never leaving you again.”

Things got easier after that. Margaret made Maya’s favorite cookies every Sunday, she read her bedtime stories when I had to work late, she sat with her when she had nightmares.

For the first time since Sarah died, our house felt like a home.

But I still couldn’t shake the guilt.

One night, Margaret found me sitting in the kitchen, staring at a photo of Sarah.

“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” she said, sitting down next to me.

“I left her with that woman,” I said, my voice rough. “I didn’t see how hurt she was.”

“You were grieving,” she said gently. “Eleanor was a monster. She fooled all of us. What matters is that you’re here now. You fought for her. You saved her.”

She put her hand on mine. “Sarah would be so proud of you.”