Chapter 9
Life got even better after that.
Facing Evelyn had lifted a weight I didn't even know I was carrying. I felt lighter. Freer.
Her parole was denied. The board said she showed no genuine remorse. She'd have to serve her full sentence.
I didn't feel happy about it. I didn't feel sad.
I just felt... nothing.
She was no longer a part of my life. And that was exactly how it should be.
My business continued to grow. I hired two employees. We moved into a small office downtown.
Daniel was thriving too. He and Robert had turned the family business around, making it more ethical, more successful. They were closer than they'd ever been.
Robert met someone. A wonderful woman named Helen. She was kind and funny and perfect for him. They got married a year after our second wedding. I was her maid of honor.
It felt like everything was falling into place.
But there was still one thing missing.
One thing Daniel and I both wanted more than anything.
A baby.
We tried for months. Nothing happened.
We went to doctors. They said everything was fine. It would happen when it was meant to happen.
But it was hard. Every month, every negative test felt like a failure.
Daniel held me every time I cried.
"It'll happen," he said. "When the time is right. And until then, we have each other. And that's enough."
But I wanted more. I wanted to give him a family. I wanted to be a mother.
One morning, I woke up feeling different.
I didn't want to get my hopes up. But I couldn't help it.
I went to the bathroom and took a test.
I waited.
Three minutes felt like three hours.
I looked down.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
I stared at the test, my hands shaking. Tears filled my eyes.
I ran out of the bathroom. Daniel was in the kitchen, making breakfast.
"Daniel!" I screamed.
He turned around, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"
I held out the test.
He stared at it. Then he looked at me.
"Really?" he whispered.
I nodded, laughing and crying at the same time.
"Really."
He dropped the spatula he was holding and ran to me. He picked me up and spun me around.
"We're going to have a baby!" he shouted.
"We're going to have a baby," I repeated.
The next nine months were the happiest of my life.
Daniel was incredible. He went to every doctor's appointment. He read every parenting book. He talked to my belly every night, telling our baby how much he or she was loved.
Robert and Helen were thrilled. They bought us everything we could possibly need. A crib. A stroller. Mountains of tiny clothes.
Margaret came over every week, bringing me homemade soup and telling me stories about when Daniel was a baby.
I felt surrounded by love.
Completely. Totally. Loved.
The day our daughter was born was the most perfect day of my life.
She was tiny. Seven pounds, two ounces. She had Daniel's eyes and my nose.
We named her Grace.
Because that's what we'd been given.
Grace. A second chance. A new beginning.
Holding her in my arms for the first time, I looked at Daniel.
He was crying. He reached out and touched Grace's tiny hand.
"She's perfect," he whispered.
"She is," I agreed.
That night, as I held our sleeping daughter, Daniel beside me, I thought about how far we'd come.
From Christmas night. From the slap. From the burn. From lying on the floor, completely alone.
To this.
A husband who loved me. A daughter who was ours. A family who supported us.
A life I'd built with my own two hands.
I kissed Grace's forehead.
May you like
I kissed Daniel's cheek.
And I fell asleep, completely at peace.
