Chapter 8 - The Healing of the Mind
Over the next year, Hannah Vance became an indispensable part of their lives.
What began as professional consultations regarding Maisie’s emotional development naturally evolved into a deep, tender romance between Nathan and Hannah. They were two people bound by a shared value: that true purpose was found in serving and protecting others.
Hannah helped Maisie process the final lingering fragments of her early childhood trauma. While Maisie loved her new life with Nathan unconditionally, she still suffered occasional night terrors—waking up in cold sweats, terrified that Rowan had been taken or that they were back in the freezing box in Westfield Square.
One autumn evening, when a sudden rainstorm battered the house, eight-year-old Maisie woke up screaming.
Nathan and Hannah rushed into her room simultaneously.
Maisie was huddled in the corner between her bed and the wall, clutching her knees to her chest, her breathing frantic. “The box is getting wet!” she cried, her eyes wide with panic, seeing memories instead of her lavender bedroom. “Rowan’s lips are blue! I can’t keep him warm!”
Nathan dropped to his knees, but Hannah gently placed a hand on his shoulder, stepping forward first.
“Maisie,” Hannah said softly, her voice steady and low as a lullaby. She didn't try to pull Maisie out. Instead, she sat on the floor right beside her, leaving space between them. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
Maisie blinked, tears streaming down her face.
Hannah reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, polished wooden wooden star that Nathan had carved for Maisie weeks ago. She held it out in the palm of her hand. “Touch the star, Maisie. Feel how smooth it is.”
Maisie hesitated, then reached out her trembling fingers and touched the wood.
“Is the wood cold, or is it warm?” Hannah asked softly.
“It’s... it’s warm,” Maisie sobbed.
“Where are you right now?” Hannah asked.
“In... in my room,” Maisie whispered, looking around at the soft lamp light, the lavender walls, and the framed photos of her, Rowan, and Nathan on her desk.
Nathan moved closer and sat on Hannah’s other side, wrapping his large arms around both of them. “Rowan is asleep in his crib down the hall, Maisie. He’s wearing his warm fleece pajamas. He’s safe. You saved him, and now I’m keeping both of you safe.”
Maisie let out a long, ragged cry and collapsed into Nathan’s chest. Hannah wrapped her arms around them both, resting her head against Nathan’s shoulder.
They stayed on the floor together until the rain stopped and the storm gave way to a quiet, star-filled night.
That night was a turning point. Maisie never had the night terror again. She realized, in the deepest places of her heart, that the dark box in Westfield Square was in the past, and that her present was held fast by two people who loved her more than life itself.
Two weeks later, on a quiet walk along the stream behind the house, Nathan took Hannah’s hand.
“Hannah,” Nathan said, stopping beneath a gold-leafed maple tree. He pulled a small velvet box from his coat pocket. “When I found Maisie and Rowan, I thought my heart had reached its full capacity. I didn't know there was room for another miracle.”
He opened the box to reveal an elegant, simple diamond ring.
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“You brought warmth into our home, healing to our daughter, and love back into my life. Will you marry us?”
Hannah laughed through her tears, throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes! A thousand times, yes!”
