Chapter 8
Lily started third grade.
She was eight now. She was reading at a sixth-grade level. She wanted to be a teacher. Or a veterinarian. Or a princess — she hadn't decided.
She no longer had nightmares. She no longer hid food. She no longer flinched. She was — healed. As much as a person can be. The scars were there, but they didn't hurt anymore. They were just — part of her.
She gave a speech at school. About hunger. About kids who don't get enough to eat. About her own experience. She started a food drive at school. It collected over a thousand pounds of food. For the local shelter.
The principal called me. "Your daughter is remarkable," she said.
I knew.
Mason started high school. He made the basketball team. He got straight A's. He was student council vice president. He was — everything. He talked about college. About being a lawyer. "So I can help kids like me," he said.
I told him he could be anything. He believed me.
Sarah had the baby. A girl. We named her Hope. Because that's what we'd found. In the darkest of times. Hope.
Lily adored her. Mason adored her. Daniel — now three — adored her. Our family was complete. Loud. Messy. Full. Perfect.
Vanessa — she was released early, for good behavior. She wrote to Mason. He wrote back once. Short. Polite. They met once. At a coffee shop. I went with him. Waited outside. It lasted twenty minutes. When he came out, he was crying. But he was smiling.
"She's different," he said. "She's — sorry. Really sorry. She's working at a shelter. She's helping people. She's — trying."
I hugged him. "That's good, buddy. That's good."
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I didn't forgive her. I didn't need to. But Mason had. And that was his right. His journey. His choice.
And I was just — grateful. Grateful he'd found peace.
