Chapter 7 - Healing Roots
With the legal nightmare officially concluded, we focused entirely on rebuilding. Stability is the greatest antidote to trauma, and we established a rhythm that gave the children predictability and comfort.
Every morning, I made pancakes—sometimes shaped like friendly monsters, sometimes just round and stacked high with maple syrup. I walked Drew to his new elementary school three blocks away, holding his hand until we reached the school gates where he could walk in proudly with his classmates. Lily attended a wonderful local preschool three mornings a week, where she learned to share finger paint and make friends without fear.
One evening in early December, as the first light snowfall began to dust the neighborhood, we gathered in the living room to decorate our first Christmas tree.
Boxes of ornaments—many of them collected by Aaron years before—were scattered across the floor. Drew picked up a small, hand-painted wooden star that had a slight chip on one corner.
"Dad made this," Drew said softly, turning it over in his hands. "He said he made it the year I was born."
I knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "He did. He was so proud when you were born, Drew. He loved you and Lily more than anything in the world."
"Do you think he knows we're okay now?" Lily asked, looking up from a string of popcorn she was helping thread. She had a small spot of white flour on the tip of her nose.
I smiled, pulling both of them close against my sides.
May you like
"I know he does," I said gently. "Every time you laugh, every time you feel safe, and every time you look out for each other—he’s right there watching."
Drew looked at the wooden star, then placed it carefully onto the highest branch we could reach together. It tilted slightly to the left, but it caught the warm glow of the fairy lights, shining brightly against the green pine needles.
