Chapter 7 - The Cleansing
Two days after the court hearing, the house in Virginia looked entirely different.
The Virginia State Police and Marcus's team had finished their sweep, but the real work had been done by Sophia and me. We didn't hire a cleaning crew; we did it ourselves, room by room, burning incense, throwing out every single piece of furniture, fabric, and keepsake that Eleanor had touched or tainted with her toxic presence.
The guest room where Sophia had been locked away was stripped down to the bare drywall. We tore out the carpet, ripped off the floral wallpaper, and painted the walls a clean, bright, breathable white.
Leo was sleeping peacefully in his nursery — the real nursery, now fitted with a high-end air filtration system, secure locks, and a smart monitor that synced directly to our phones with encrypted feeds.
I stood in the master bedroom, packing the last of Eleanor's old winter coats into a heavy black trash bag to be dumped at a local charity drop-off, when Sophia walked in holding a cup of tea.
She looked radiant. The bruising on her cheek had faded to a faint yellowish hue, and her eyes — those bright, stubborn, beautiful eyes — were clear and full of life again.
She handed me the mug of tea and leaned against the doorframe, watching me work.
"Are you sure you want to keep living in this house?" she asked softly. "After everything that happened here?"
I stopped packing, set the bag down, and walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close against my chest.
"This isn't Eleanor's house, Soph," I said, resting my chin on the top of her head. "It never was. I bought this land with the money I earned while thinking of you every single night in the desert. The ghosts aren't hers. They belong to us now. And we're going to fill every square inch of this place with our own memories — good ones, loud ones, messy ones."
Sophia smiled, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down for a long, deep kiss that tasted of cinnamon tea and homecoming.
"Good," she murmured against my lips. "Because I'm not moving. And besides... my parents are flying in from Ohio tomorrow to stay in the guest room. And my dad is bringing his famous smoker."
I laughed — a real, deep, booming laugh that echoed off the fresh white walls of the bedroom.
"Your dad is bringing a smoker to McLean?"
"He bought a trailer-mounted industrial smoker specifically to celebrate Eleanor's eviction," Sophia said with a wicked, triumphant grin. "He told me on the phone this morning that he's going to smoke two whole briskets right on the front lawn where Eleanor used to park her Mercedes."
May you like
I smiled, shaking my head. "Your father is a national treasure."
"He's a grandfather protecting his daughter," Sophia corrected softly, resting her head back against my shoulder as we looked out the window toward the front lawn where the amber Virginia sunlight was streaming through the oak trees. "And so are you."
