Chapter 9
The next few weeks were a blur.
Jake was arrested.
Charged with conspiracy, fraud, blackmail, and a dozen other things.
He’d never practice law again.
He’d probably spend the next ten years in prison.
Margaret was still in jail.
She’d refused to testify against Jake.
Said family loyalty came first.
She was looking at seven years minimum.
Ryan took a plea deal.
Five years in prison.
No parole.
He wrote me a letter from jail.
Said he was sorry.
Said he hoped I could forgive him someday.
I didn’t write back.
I didn’t have to.
Forgiveness wasn’t for him.
It was for me.
And I wasn’t ready yet.
Maybe I never would be.
We moved.
A small house in a different part of town.
New school for Emma.
New friends.
New everything.
Emma started therapy.
She still had nightmares sometimes.
Still flinched when someone raised their voice too loud.
But she was getting better.
She made the soccer team at her new school.
Loved her art class.
Was starting to be a kid again.
Lucas was thriving.
He was walking now.
Into everything.
Laughing all the time.
He didn’t remember any of it.
And that was the greatest gift of all.
Sarah became more than our lawyer.
She became our friend.
Came over for dinner once a week.
Brought Emma art supplies.
Brought Lucas toys.
She was the family we chose.
Detective Alvarez stayed in touch too.
Checked in every few weeks.
Said he’d never seen a kid as brave as Emma.
Life was starting to feel normal again.
Or at least, our new normal.
One evening, about two months after the hearing, I was putting Emma to bed.
She was quiet.
Thinking.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Are Dad and Grandma Margaret ever going to come home?”
I sat down on her bed.
Brushed the hair from her face.
“No, Emma. They have to stay away for a long time. They made choices that hurt people. And they have to be punished for that.”
Emma nodded.
“I don’t hate them,” she said quietly.
I was surprised.
“You don’t?”
“No. I feel bad for them. Grandma Margaret thought she was doing the right thing. Dad was scared. But hurting people is never right, is it?”
I looked at my daughter.
Seven years old.
And wiser than most adults I knew.
“No, baby,” I said. “It’s never right.”
She snuggled into her pillow.
“I’m glad we’re safe now,” she said.
“Me too.”
I kissed her forehead.
Turned off the light.
Walked out of her room.
Lucas was asleep in his crib.
I stood there for a minute.
Watched him breathe.
So small.
So perfect.
So alive.
I walked into the kitchen.
Poured myself a glass of wine.
Sat down at the table.
And for the first time in months, I let myself cry.
Not sad tears.
Not angry tears.
Relieved tears.
We were safe.
We were together.
And we were going to be okay.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Sarah.
Heard from the DA. Jake’s trial starts in three months. They want you and Emma to testify.
I stared at the phone.
Another trial.
Another chance to relive everything.
But this time, it would be different.
This time, we weren’t fighting for our lives.
We were fighting for justice.
I texted back.
We’ll be there.
I put my phone down.
Looked around my new kitchen.
My new life.
It wasn’t perfect.
It would never be perfect.
May you like
But it was ours.
And that was enough.
