Chapter 7
The funeral was small.
Just me.
Emma.
Melissa.
And Robert.
He’d flown in from Oregon the second he’d heard.
We buried Daniel in an unmarked grave in the town cemetery.
No headstone.
No service.
No words.
Emma didn’t want to go.
I made her.
Not because I thought she needed to grieve.
But because I thought she needed to see it.
To know he was really in the ground.
That he couldn’t get out again.
She stood beside me at the graveside.
She held my hand tight.
She didn’t cry.
She didn’t speak.
She just watched them lower the box into the hole.
And when it was done, she turned to me.
“Can we get ice cream now?” she asked.
I smiled.
“Of course we can, baby.”
Robert walked us to the car.
“I’m heading back tomorrow,” he said. “But I wanted to give you this.”
He handed me another envelope.
“Linda died last week,” he said. “Heart attack. In her cell. She left everything to Daniel. And since Daniel is… well… it all goes to Emma. The life insurance from her policy. Her retirement. Everything. Almost four hundred thousand dollars. It’s in a trust. For Emma’s medical bills. For college. For whatever she needs.”
He looked at me.
“I know it’s blood money,” he said. “But it’s hers. And maybe… maybe some good can come from all of this.”
He got into his rental car.
He drove away.
I stood there with the envelope in my hand.
Four hundred thousand dollars.
From Linda’s death.
It was like the Carter women were cursed.
Or maybe just the men who married them.
That night, after Emma was asleep, Melissa and I sat on the porch.
The ocean was black.
The stars were bright.
“So,” Melissa said. “What now?”
I looked at the envelope in my hand.
“Now,” I said. “Now we live.”
The next year was the hardest and the best of my life.
Hard because I had to learn how to be a single mother.
How to pay bills.
How to fix a leaky faucet.
How to kill spiders.
All the things Daniel used to do.
Or pretended to do.
But it was the best because every day was ours.
No lies.
No secrets.
No fear.
Emma thrived.
Her health got better.
She made friends at school.
She joined the soccer team.
She was happy.
Really happy.
The kind of happy that makes you forget what sad feels like.
I got a job at the local bookstore.
It paid almost nothing.
But I loved it.
I loved talking to people about books.
I loved the smell of paper and coffee.
I loved that no one there knew my name.
Or my story.
I was just Sarah.
The nice lady who worked at the bookstore.
And then came the day that changed everything again.
It was a Tuesday.
Rainy.
Slow.
A man came in.
Tall.
Dark hair.
Gray at the temples.
Nice eyes.
He was wearing a flannel shirt and jeans.
Work boots.
He walked up to the counter.
He was carrying three books.
All westerns.
“Just these,” he said. He smiled.
I rang them up.
“Visiting?” I asked. Everyone in town knew everyone. I’d never seen him before.
“Just moved here,” he said. “Bought the old farm on Route 7. The one with the red barn. Gonna fix it up. Maybe raise some horses.”
I nodded.
I knew the farm.
It had been empty for years.
“That’s a lot of work,” I said.
He laughed.
“Tell me about it. Spent all weekend pulling up floorboards. Found three nests of mice. Two dead raccoons. And a very surprised skunk.”
I laughed.
A real laugh.
The kind I hadn’t laughed in a long time.
“Sounds like you need a drink,” I said.
He leaned on the counter.
His smile got bigger.
“I know a great little diner in town,” he said. “Best pie east of the Mississippi. Apple. Cinnamon ice cream. What do you say? I buy you a piece. Thank you for… not laughing too hard at my skunk story.”
I hesitated.
I hadn’t been on a date since Daniel.
I hadn’t even wanted to be.
But there was something about this man.
Something open.
Honest.
Safe.
“Okay,” I heard myself say. “But only if the pie is actually good.”
“It’s life-changing,” he said. “I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Walker.”
“Sarah Carter.”
His hand was warm.
Calloused.
Strong.
“Seven o’clock?” he asked.
“Seven.”
He left.
I stood there.
Staring at the door.
Melissa came out of the back room.
She was grinning from ear to ear.
“Oooooo,” she said. “Who was that? And why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing,” I said. But I was. “His name is Ben. He bought the farm on Route 7. He asked me out for pie.”
Melissa screamed.
Quietly.
Because Emma was at school.
“This is amazing!” she said. “You have to go! Oh my God, Sarah. You deserve this. More than anyone I know.”
“I don’t know,” I said. I was picking at a loose thread on my sweater. “What if he’s like Daniel? What if he’s just acting? What if—”
“Sarah.” Melissa put her hands on my shoulders. “Not every man is Daniel. In fact, almost none of them are. Daniel was a monster. One in a million. You can’t let him steal your whole life. Not just the years he was in it. The ones after too. Go have pie. If he’s a jerk, you leave. If he’s nice… you stay. And you see what happens. That’s all. No pressure. No forever. Just pie.”
She was right.
Of course she was.
At seven o’clock, I walked into the diner.
Ben was already there.
He stood up when he saw me.
He pulled out my chair.
A gentleman.
We ordered pie.
Apple.
Cinnamon ice cream.
He was right.
It was life-changing.
We talked for three hours.
He told me about his life.
He’d been a carpenter in Boston.
His wife had died five years ago.
Cancer.
No kids.
He’d moved to Maine to start over.
To get away from the memories.
I told him about mine.
Not all of it.
Not yet.
Just that I was a single mom.
That Emma was eight.
That we’d moved here from Tennessee to be closer to family.
He didn’t push.
He didn’t ask questions.
He just listened.
And when I dropped him off at his truck, he kissed me on the cheek.
Softly.
Respectfully.
“Thank you,” he said. “I haven’t laughed that hard in years.”
“Me neither,” I said.
He drove away.
I stood there in the parking lot.
And I felt something I hadn’t felt in so long I’d forgotten what it was called.
Hope.
Things moved slowly after that.
Ben would come into the bookstore.
He’d buy a book he didn’t need.
We’d talk for ten minutes.
Then he’d leave.
He’d bring Emma a lollipop sometimes.
Or a drawing he’d made of a horse.
Emma loved him immediately.
“Mommy,” she said one night at dinner. “Ben is nice. Can he come to my soccer game on Saturday?”
I hesitated.
“Is that okay with you?” I asked.
Emma nodded so hard her pigtails flew.
“Yes! He can be my biggest fan! After you and Aunt Melissa, of course.”
Ben came to the game.
He brought a huge sign.
GO EMMA!
He cheered louder than anyone.
When Emma scored her first goal ever, he ran onto the field and picked her up.
He spun her around.
She was screaming with laughter.
I watched them.
And for a second, I could see it.
A future.
The three of us.
Horses in the barn.
Dinners on the porch.
Old age together.
It scared me.
Bad.
Because the last time I’d thought I had a future, it had turned out to be a lie.
But then Emma ran over to me.
Her face was red.
Her uniform was covered in mud.
“Mommy! Did you see? Did you see me score? Ben said I’m the best player on the whole team!”
And I knew.
I had to try.
For her.
For me.
For the life we deserved.
That night, after Emma was asleep, I called Ben.
“Can you come over?” I asked. “I need to tell you something. Something important.”
He was at my door in ten minutes.
We sat on the porch.
I told him everything.
All of it.
From the day I’d found Emma beside the trash cans.
To the texts.
To the hospital.
To the escape.
To the gunshot.
I didn’t leave anything out.
When I finished, I was crying.
“I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore,” I said. “I know it’s a lot. And Emma… she’s been through so much. If you’re not ready for that kind of baggage… I get it. Really.”
Ben was quiet for a long time.
He stared out at the ocean.
Then he turned to me.
His eyes were wet.
“Sarah,” he said softly. “Can I hold your hand?”
I gave it to him.
His was warm.
Calloused.
Safe.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “None of that was your fault. None of it. You did what you had to do to protect your daughter. That makes you the bravest woman I’ve ever met. And Emma? She’s the strongest, most amazing eight-year-old on the planet. If you’ll have me… I’d be honored to be part of your lives. Whatever that means. Whenever you’re ready. No pressure. No rush. I’m just… here.”
He squeezed my hand.
“And for the record?” he said. “If Daniel had gotten through that door and I’d been there? I would have shot him myself. Twice. Just to be sure.”
I laughed through my tears.
And then I kissed him.
For real this time.
Not on the cheek.
On the mouth.
It was soft.
Gentle.
Everything a first kiss should be.
May you like
And for the first time since Daniel, I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up.
I felt like I was home.
