Mom, please don't hurt us. We haven't eaten in 3 days

Six months later, the house in the suburbs was empty.

I couldn't stand to live in the rooms where Emily had been poisoned, where my children had been starved, and where I had allowed a monster to sleep under our roof. I put the property on the market, and despite the dark history associated with it, a local developer bought the land to tear the house down and build a new, modern structure.

We moved to a small, bright cottage near the coast in Maine.

Here, the air didn't smell like sour milk or chemical detergent. It smelled like salt water, pine trees, and fresh rain. The windows were always open, letting in the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the rocky shore.

Ava, now seven, had started school at the local academy. She had regained her beautiful, booming laugh, and her dark hair had grown long and shiny again. She was currently sitting on the living room rug, building a massive Lego castle with Lucas, who was now a healthy, chubby three-year-old with a fierce appetite.

"Daddy, look!" Lucas cried out, pointing to a plastic knight he had placed on top of the tower. "I made a castle for Mama!"

I walked over, kneeling down beside them, and pulled them both into a tight, warm hug. "It’s a beautiful castle, Lucas. Mama would love it."

We had built a small memorial garden for Emily in the backyard, overlooking the water. We planted yellow roses—her favorite—and every morning, Ava and Lucas would go out to water them, talking to their mother as if she were still sitting on the porch with us.

The telephone on the kitchen counter rang, breaking the peaceful silence of the afternoon.