Chapter 8 - SAFE IN THE LIGHT
Wrenna’s suburban bungalow was warm, smelling of cinnamon tea and roasted chicken.
When I unlocked the front door, the house was completely quiet. Wrenna sat on the living room sofa with a cup of tea, reading a book under a soft floor lamp.
She looked up, saw my face, and immediately set the book down.
“Is it done?” she asked in a whisper.
“Both of them,” I said, taking off my coat and hanging it by the door. “In custody. Verity was Julian’s half-sister. They’ve been planning this since before Clara passed.”
Wrenna closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. “My God, Stellan... Clara knew, didn't she? That’s what the tape was.”
“Clara tried to protect us until her last breath,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “And I brought the woman who hurt her right into our home.”
Wrenna stood up, walked across the room, and gripped my arms firmly, just like our mother used to do.
“Listen to me, Stellan,” she said fiercely. “You didn't know. You were grieving, you were drowning, and you were trying to give your daughter a mother. You didn't fail Lottie. You protected her the second you saw the truth. Don't you dare let Verity make you doubt that.”
I nodded slowly, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Where is she?”
“In the guest bedroom,” Wrenna smiled gently. “She wouldn't go to sleep until I promised her you were coming.”
I kicked off my boots and walked down the carpeted hallway. The door to the guest room was cracked open, a soft yellow nightlight shaped like an acorn casting a warm glow across the floor.
I pushed the door open quietly.
Lottie was curled up under a heavy quilt, clutching an old stuffed rabbit with worn-down ears. Her eyes were open, watching the doorway. The moment she saw me, her face lit up.
“Daddy,” she whispered.
I walked over, sat on the edge of the bed, and gathered her into my arms. She wrapped her little arms around my neck, burying her face into the crook of my shoulder. She was warm, completely dry, and smelled of Wrenna’s lavender baby soap.
“Did the mean lady go away?” she asked, her voice muffled against my shirt.
“She went far, far away,” I told her, kissing the top of her head. “She is never, ever coming back to our house. Not ever.”
Lottie pulled back slightly, looking into my eyes. “Did you bring Mommy’s music box?”
“I have something better,” I said.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out Clara’s small gold locket. I placed it gently into Lottie’s palm.
Her eyes went wide. She traced the engraved floral pattern on the front with her tiny thumb. “Mommy’s necklace.”
“Open it,” I said.
Lottie pressed the tiny clasp. The locket popped open. Inside was a miniature photograph of Clara smiling on the beach, her dark hair blowing in the wind, holding a three-month-old Lottie wrapped in a sun blanket.
“Mommy is always with you,” I whispered, touching Lottie’s chest right over her heart. “Right here. And nobody can ever take that away. Not with water, not with mean words, not with anything.”
Lottie stared at the picture for a long time. Then, she looked up at me, her brown eyes clear and bright, free of the fear that had haunted them for months.
“Daddy?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Can we make pancakes tomorrow? With the little chocolate chips?”
May you like
A laugh broke through my chest, half a sob, half pure relief. I pulled her close again, rocking her gently in the quiet room.
“We can make as many pancakes as you want,” I promised. “All the chocolate chips in the world.”
