Chapter 10 - The Safe House
Two years later.
The summer sun was golden and warm, casting long, peaceful shadows across the green grass of our new backyard.
It wasn't an apartment anymore. It was a small, cozy three-bedroom bungalow on a quiet tree-lined street in the suburbs. It had a white porch, a big oak tree in the front yard, and a garden bed in the back filled with blooming sunflowers and small terracotta pots of mint.
I stood on the back porch, holding two glasses of cold lemonade, watching the yard.
Graham was eleven now. He was growing fast, his legs getting longer, but his bright green eyes were as clear and peaceful as the summer sky. He was sitting on a wooden bench under the oak tree with a brand-new model car kit—a 1969 Dodge Charger—methodically gluing the tiny tires onto the plastic axles.
Beside him sat Brenda, who had become a dear family friend, helping him organize the tiny chrome pieces by size.
From the kitchen behind me, Marcus Vance—who was no longer just my lawyer, but my partner and the man who loved us both with every fiber of his soul—walked out onto the porch, carrying a plate of fresh blueberry muffins.
He wrapped his arm around my waist, leaning down to kiss my temple.
"How's the head engineer doing?" Marcus asked with a smile, nodding toward Graham.
"He's on step fourteen," I laughed softly, resting my head against Marcus's shoulder. "He told me if I talk too loud, I’ll ruin the aerodynamic alignment."
Marcus chuckled, pulling me closer against his side. "He's going to be an aerospace engineer by twenty."
"I know," I breathed, taking a deep breath of the sweet, warm air.
There were no shadows here.
Mom was still in prison, her appeals denied, her bitter letters returned unopened to sender. Austin was serving his sentence three hundred miles away, forgotten like a bad dream that vanishes when the sun comes up.
Our lives weren't defined by the pain they had inflicted on us. Our lives were defined by the fortress of love we had built out of the ruins they left behind.
Graham looked up from his model car under the oak tree. He saw us standing on the porch, holding hands under the warm sunlight.
He didn't look scared. He didn't look like he was waiting for a hand to fall or a door to slam.
He smiled—a big, wide, beautiful smile that reached all the way to his bright green eyes—and held up his finished Dodge Charger.
"Nellie! Look!" Graham called out, his voice clear, strong, and full of pure, unadulterated joy. "It's perfect!"
I walked down the porch steps into the green grass, holding my brother's hand, feeling the warm sun on my face.
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"Yes, it is, Graham," I said, kissing his cheek. "It's absolutely perfect."
And for the first time in my life, I knew that tomorrow would be even better.
