The words hung in the chilly night air of our living room, heavy, suffocating, and absolute.

Six months later.

The small coastal town of Beaufort, North Carolina, smelled of salt air, wild jasmine, and sweet pine.

At the end of a quiet lane lined with ancient live oak trees sat a small, yellow two-story cottage with a wide front porch and a blooming vegetable garden.

I stood on the porch holding a tray of freshly baked lemonade muffins, watching the golden afternoon sun dip toward the marshes.

Down in the yard, Lily was sitting on a wooden bench under a large oak tree, drawing in a large sketchbook with a set of bright colored pencils.

She had grown three inches over the summer. Her cheeks were rosy and healthy, her skin kissed by the southern sun. She no longer whispered when she spoke; her voice was clear, confident, and full of quick, curious questions about the world.

A small, scruffy golden retriever puppy—which we had adopted from a local shelter three weeks ago and named Barnaby—was chasing a yellow butterfly around her feet, yapping happily.

“Mama!” Lily called out, waving her sketchbook in the air. “Look! I finished the house!”

I laid the tray on the porch table and walked down the steps into the grass, kneeling beside her on the bench.

I looked at her drawing.

It was a picture of our yellow cottage, surrounded by huge, colorful flowers, giant green trees, and a sun with a huge smiley face in the sky. Standing on the front lawn were two figures holding hands—a taller woman with short brown hair, and a small girl in a blue dress holding a puppy’s leash.

At the bottom of the page, in her neat, proud eight-year-old handwriting, she had written:

OUR HOME. NO LOCKS.

I pulled Lily into my arms, hugging her close against my heart, burying my face in her soft, clean hair.

“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” I whispered, my voice choked with happy tears. “It’s the most beautiful drawing I’ve ever seen.”

Lily wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, resting her head against my shoulder.

“Mama?” she asked softly.

“Yes, my love?”

“When we go to bed tonight... can we leave the bedroom window open a little bit?” she asked, looking up into my eyes with complete, unguarded trust. “I like hearing the ocean.”