Chapter 18 - The AnniversaryTwo years to the day since the night the cold water had crashed over my head, the autumn air turned crisp and gold once more.
I woke up early, before Emma stirred in her toddler bed down the hall, and walked out onto the front porch with a mug of hot coffee. The neighborhood was quiet, shrouded in a soft, misty morning veil.
Down the driveway, the iron security gates stood open and welcoming. The security detail Mr. Henderson had originally assigned had long since transitioned to a standard automated perimeter system, because the real protection was no longer external—it was woven into the legal, financial, and emotional independence I had carved out for myself and my daughter.
I looked down at my hands. They didn't tremble anymore.
A pair of small, pajama-clad arms wrapped tightly around my leg, followed by a sleepy, cheerful voice.
“Mommy? Are you having coffee?”
I smiled, setting my mug down safely on the side table, and scooped Emma up into my arms, burying my face in her curly hair. She was two years old now—bright, fiercely independent, and utterly fearless.
“I am, sweet girl,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “Just enjoying the morning.”
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“Can we go paint?” she asked, pointing toward the art easel set up in the sunroom.
“We can paint whatever colors you want,” I replied.
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