Chapter 8 - The Nursery Sun
Our home was filled with the quiet, golden light of late afternoon when we pulled into the driveway.
The nursery on the second floor was exactly as we had left it on that terrifying night three months ago: yellow walls painted by Ethan, a white wooden crib near the window, and a hand-knitted blanket draped over the arm of the rocking chair.
I sat down in the rocking chair, cradling Lily against my chest, watching her tiny dark eyes flutter closed as she listened to the soft hum of the air conditioner and the quiet rustle of the trees outside.
Ethan walked into the room carrying two cups of tea, setting one down on the small table beside my chair before kneeling on the rug at my feet.
He reached up, gently touching Lily's tiny cheek with his finger.
"Marcus called on the drive home," Ethan said softly.
I looked down at him. "What did he say?"
"The auction for your parents' house ended this morning," Ethan replied. "A commercial developer bought the land. They're tearing down the house next month to build a community park."
I took a deep breath, feeling a profound, peaceful stillness settle over my heart.
The kitchen where I had laid on the cold floor, the house where I had spent twenty-five years feeling like an outsider in my own family, the place where my sister had tried to take my daughter's life—it was all going to be reduced to dust and replaced by green grass and playing children.
"Good," I whispered. "That house never had a soul anyway."
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"How are you feeling?" Ethan asked, taking my hand in his, looking up at me with deep, enduring love.
"I feel free, Ethan," I said, looking down at our beautiful, perfect daughter sleeping peacefully in my arms. "For the first time in my life, I feel completely free."
