Chapter 5 - The Light in the Forest
A year passed before the grass completely grew back over the path Maisy had cut through the woods behind our house.
The house on Maple Grove Lane had been sold, the proceeds used to clear my father's medical debts and establish a permanent trust fund for Maisy and Theo’s education. My father had moved into a small, sunny assisted-living bungalow just three miles from our house. He still walked with a cane, and sometimes he forgot the name of the day of the week, but his mind was clear of the poison, and his heart was entirely whole.
It was a Saturday afternoon in late July, the sun warm but gentle, casting bright patches of gold through the oak leaves in our backyard.
We were having a small cookout—just my husband, my father, the kids, and me. The smell of hot dogs and sweet corn hung in the air, and a portable radio was playing an old jazz station my father liked.
Theo was over two years old now, a sturdy toddler with a laugh that could be heard across the entire block. He was chasing a plastic soccer ball across the grass, his fat little legs moving with an erratic, joyful energy.
Maisy was eight. She was sitting on the wooden bench next to my father, a sketchpad in her lap. She was drawing a picture of a cat with blue wings, her tongue tucked into the corner of her mouth in deep concentration.
My father watched her, his hand resting on the handle of his cane, a soft, content smile resting on his face.
"Grandpa," Maisy said, looking up from her drawing. "Look. I made the wings match your sweater."
"It's beautiful, sweetheart," my father said, his voice steady and warm. "The finest flying cat in the county."
I walked over from the grill, carrying a plate of fresh fruit, and sat down on the other side of my daughter. I looked at her arms—the deep, angry scratches from that terrifying Tuesday had completely healed, leaving only the smoothest, unblemished skin. The woods hadn't chewed her up permanently; she had conquered them.
Theo came running over, slamming his sticky hands against my father’s knee, shrieking with laughter as he pointed at a butterfly that had landed on the edge of the patio.
"Look, Pop-pop! Bug!" Theo cheered.
My father reached down, lifting my son onto his lap with his good arm, his laughter blending with the sound of the radio.
I leaned my head against my husband’s shoulder as he joined us, watching our family gathered in the sunlight. The nightmare that had started in a hot car and a dark forest was finally over. The people who were supposed to protect my children had been tested, the wolves had been removed from the house, and the foundation we had rebuilt was made of a love that no poison could ever touch.
Maisy closed her sketchpad, reached over, and slid her small, warm hand into mine.
"Mommy?" she whispered.
"Yes, baby?"
"We're completely safe now, right?"
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I looked at her beautiful, clear eyes, then at my father holding my son, and I smiled with a certainty that reached all the way to my bones.
"Yes, my brave girl," I said, kissing the top of her head. "We are completely safe."
