Chapter 5 - The Walls We Build
While the war for Chicago was being fought in boardrooms and back alleys, a much quieter, harder war was being waged inside the walls of the Highland Park estate.
Integrating a child who had known only trauma into a world of hyper-luxury was not simple.
Emma didn't sleep in the massive canopy bed we prepared for her in the room next to Lily’s. On her first night, I found her at two in the morning sleeping on the hardwood floor inside the walk-in closet, curled up on a pile of extra blankets with her ragged teddy bear held tight to her chest.
When the chef prepared a gourmet steak dinner, she wouldn't touch it. She would only eat white bread and canned soup, hoarding extra crusts under her mattress because her brain was still convinced that food might disappear tomorrow.
Every time Viktor or one of the armed guards walked past her door, she would freeze like a deer caught in headlights, waiting for a blow that never came.
By Thursday afternoon, I was sitting in my study, exhausted, staring at a stack of custody papers, when a soft knock sounded at the open door.
I looked up. Lily was standing there, holding Emma by the hand.
Emma was wearing a pair of brand-new blue denim overalls and a yellow sweater, her soft brown hair neatly brushed and tied in two tiny pigtails—courtesy of Lily’s aggressive styling efforts.
“Daddy,” Lily said firmly, walking into the study with the authority of a miniature general. “Emma wants to ask you something, but she’s scared you’re going to yell.”
I immediately pushed my paperwork aside and knelt on the oriental rug in front of them.
“Emma,” I said, keeping my voice soft, warm, and completely stripped of the coldness I used in the outside world. “You never have to be scared of me. You can ask me anything in the world.”
Emma looked down at her shoes—new leather sneakers with light-up heels that Lily had insisted on buying her. She pressed her thumbs together nervously.
“Are... are you really my daddy?” she asked, her whisper so quiet I had to lean closer to hear it.
My chest cracked open. I reached out, gently cupping her chin with my fingers, guiding her face up so her bright green eyes met mine.
“I am, Emma,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I didn't know where you were for seven years. If I had known, I would have crossed the ocean to find you. But I know now. And I am never, ever going to let anyone hurt you again.”
A big, fat tear rolled down Emma’s cheek, catching the afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows.
“Aunt Karen said... she said my mommy gave me away because I was bad,” Emma sobbed, her little shoulders shaking. “She said nobody wanted two of us.”
Lily gasped in absolute outrage. “Aunt Karen is a stupid liar!” Lily yelled, wrapping her arms around Emma’s neck in a fiercer-than-life hug. “You’re my sister! You’re my identical twin! That means we’re two halves of the same magic heart!”
I pulled both of them into my arms, burying my face in their soft hair. I held them so tight I could feel their tiny hearts beating in rhythm against my chest—two identical beats, two identical lives, finally restored to the same home.
“Your mother loved you more than her own life, Emma,” I whispered against her hair. “She made a mistake because she was scared. But she wanted you to be safe. And now you are.”
May you like
For the first time since I had found her sitting on that icy bench in Lincoln Park, Emma’s tiny arms reached around my neck. She buried her face in my shoulder, her little fingers clutching the collar of my shirt, and wept—not tears of fear, but tears of a child who had finally realized she was home.
From the doorway, Viktor watched us silently. The giant Ukrainian wiped a sudden speck of dust from his eye, turned around, and closed the study door to give us peace.
