Chapter 10 - The Warm Hearth
Winter turned into spring.
Our new townhouse in Detroit was everything we ever wanted. The walls were painted in bright, warm colors. The yellow front door welcomed us every day.
Arthur had moved into a low-income apartment building across the state, living off social security, completely alone. Eleanor was locked in a six-by-eight cell, wearing an orange jumpsuit, entirely forgotten by the high-society friends she had prized over her own family.
It was a Friday evening. The fireplace was crackling warmly in the living room. Chloe was sitting on the rug, her pink backpack tossed carelessly on the sofa, laughing as she played a board game with Mrs. Gable, who had become a surrogate grandmother to her.
I stood in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine, listening to the sound of my daughter’s laughter filling the house.
There were no more strings attached to our lives. No more emotional blackmail. No more coldness.
May you like
I walked into the living room and sat down next to Chloe, wrapping a thick, warm blanket around her shoulders. She leaned her head against my chest, safe, secure, and infinitely loved.
We had lost a family, but we had built a home. And the fire inside it would never, ever go out.
