Chapter 10
A year to the day after that terrible Sunday dinner, Ellie and I stood in the backyard of our house.
The sun was setting, painting the sky in colors that looked like something Ellie would have painted.
She held a small box in her hands.
"Are you ready?" I asked.
She nodded, her face serious but determined.
Together, we walked to the old oak tree in the corner of the yard.
A year ago, I'd helped her plant a small flower garden at its base. It had grown beautifully, full of colors and life.
Now Ellie knelt down and opened the box.
Inside were the drawings she'd made over the past year. The ones she'd done in art club. The ones that had won her a blue ribbon at the school art show.
She pulled out one drawing in particular. It was of our family—me, her, and Mommy, with wings, watching over us from the sky.
"I want to bury this one," she said. "To say thank you."
"Thank you for what?"
"For helping me be brave," Ellie said. "And for sending Aunt Martha and Tom and Jennifer. And for making sure I know I'm loved."
My throat tightened.
I knelt down beside her, and together we dug a small hole at the base of the oak tree. Ellie placed the drawing inside, and we covered it with dirt.
Then she stood up and looked at me.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Do you think Mommy's proud of us?"
I pulled her into a hug.
"I know she is," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "She's so proud of you. Of how brave you've been. Of how kind you are, even when people aren't kind to you."
Ellie rested her head on my chest.
"I'm proud of us too," she said quietly.
We stood there for a long time, watching the sun set, holding onto each other.
Behind us, I heard a car pull into the driveway.
I turned and saw Tom's car. He and Jennifer got out, followed by Aunt Martha and Uncle Ray. They were carrying picnic baskets and balloons.
"Surprise!" Tom called out.
Ellie's face lit up.
I smiled. We'd talked about doing something to mark the day—a celebration of how far we'd come.
We spread out blankets on the grass. Aunt Martha had brought her famous fried chicken. Jennifer had made potato salad. Tom had brought Ellie's favorite cake.
As we ate and laughed and talked, I looked around at the people who had become our family.
Not the family we'd been born into. Not the one that had hurt us and let us down.
The family we'd chosen.
The ones who'd stood by us when it mattered. The ones who'd believed us when others didn't. The ones who loved Ellie exactly as she was.
After dinner, Ellie pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing. She drew the oak tree, and the sunset, and all of us sitting together on the blankets.
When she finished, she held it up.
"It's perfect," Jennifer said.
"Just like the artist," Aunt Martha added.
Ellie beamed.
Later, when the others had left and Ellie was getting ready for bed, she found me sitting on the porch swing, looking up at the stars.
She climbed up beside me and rested her head on my shoulder.
"Today was a good day," she said.
"It was a very good day," I agreed.
"Do you think Barbara is having a good day too?"
I thought about it.
Tom had told me earlier that Barbara was making progress in counseling. That she'd actually apologized to him, for the first time in his life, for the way she'd treated him growing up.
She still hadn't reached out to us. And that was okay.
"I hope so," I said. "I hope she's finding a way to be happy."
Ellie was quiet for a moment.
"I forgive her," she said suddenly.
I looked down at her, surprised.
"You do?"
"Yeah," Ellie said simply. "Because being angry all the time is tiring. And I don't want to be tired anymore. I want to be happy."
I held her tighter.
She was eight years old, and she was teaching me things about life and forgiveness that I still hadn't learned myself.
"You're very wise, you know that?"
Ellie shrugged.
"Mommy would have wanted me to be."
I kissed the top of her head.
"She would have," I said. "She would have been so proud."
We sat there for a while longer, watching the stars twinkle in the dark sky.
Somewhere in the house, a clock ticked. The oak tree rustled in the gentle breeze. The world felt quiet and peaceful and whole.
We'd been through so much.
We'd been hurt and betrayed and scared.
But we'd survived.
We'd found our way back to each other, and to the people who loved us.
May you like
We were safe. We were loved. We were home.
And that was more than enough.
