Chapter 9 - The Legacy of Grace

Two years later.

The warm summer sun was setting over the private coastal estate of the Vance family in Montauk, painting the rolling Atlantic ocean in dazzling shades of gold, deep rose, and soft violet.

I stood on the timber deck of the oceanfront house, listening to the soothing, rhythmic melody of the waves crashing onto the white sand below.

I wore a comfortable cream linen trousers and a matching silk sweater, my dark hair tied back in a loose, casual ponytail.

Inside the glass living room, three-year-old Grace and three-year-old Alexander were running through the room, playing tag with two golden retriever puppies we had adopted six months ago. Their bright, ringing laughter echoed across the timber deck, filled with pure, untainted joy.

My father sat on the deck armchair, sipping a glass of wine, watching the sunset with a peaceful, quiet smile.

Liam walked onto the deck, setting a small leather dossier on the wooden table.

"An update from the parole board, Miss Vance," Liam said softly.

I turned around, holding my glass of iced water, looking down at the dossier. "David?"

"His application for early parole was formally denied this morning," Liam reported. "He will serve his full eight-year minimum sentence at Sing Sing. His mother, Brenda, attempted to file a secondary petition for financial support from the Vance Foundation, but it was summarily rejected under the court's permanent protective order."

I looked at the dossier for three seconds.

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, I closed the leather folder without opening it, handing it back to Liam.

"Thank you, Liam," I said softly. "You can burn it."

Liam smiled—a warm, genuine smile that reached his dark eyes—and bowed his head respectfully. "With pleasure, Miss Vance."

I walked over to the deck railing, resting my hands against the smooth wood, looking out at the endless horizon stretching before me.

The scars of my past were gone. The ghost of David Cross had completely vanished from our lives, leaving behind only the bright, beautiful reality of the world I had claimed for my children.

"Mommy! Mommy!" Grace’s sweet, clear voice called out from the living room door.

I turned around, dropping to my knees on the timber deck as my three-year-old daughter ran into my open arms, her little dark curls bouncing in the ocean breeze.

"Look, Mommy!" Grace cheered, holding up a shell she had found on the beach earlier that afternoon. "It’s golden like the sun!"

Alexander came running right behind her, throwing his small arms around my neck, burying his face into my shoulder with a happy, bubbling giggle.

I held both of my children close against my chest, feeling their warm, steady heartbeats against mine, breathing in the sweet scent of baby shampoo and sea salt.

My father stood up from his chair, stepping over to stand beside us, placing his broad, protective hand over my shoulder as we looked out at the setting sun together.

"They have your spirit, Evelyn," my father whispered, his voice thick with proud emotion. "They are Vances through and through."

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I looked up at my father, then down at my daughter and son, a deep, eternal warmth filling every corner of my soul.

"No, Dad," I smiled softly, kissing Grace’s cheek and hugging Alexander tight against my heart. "They are better than that. They are loved."