Chapter 7 - The Healing Garden
Two months later, the bitter Chicago winter had finally broken, yielding to the soft, golden warmth of a Midwestern spring.
In the sunlit backyard of Margaret’s quiet suburban home in Evanston, the old oak trees were sprouting fresh green leaves, and tulips pushed their bright crimson heads through the damp earth.
Sophie sat on a wooden garden swing, her legs kicking rhythmically back and forth as the gentle breeze lifted her hair. She wore a bright yellow sundress, and in her lap sat a sketchbook filled with crayon drawings of smiling suns, cats, and green grass.
No more pale skin. No more hospital gowns. No more intravenous lines.
Margaret stood on the back porch, holding a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She watched her granddaughter with a deep, abiding peace settling into her bones. The trial of Jason and Rebecca Vance had concluded swiftly two weeks prior, resulting in maximum consecutive sentences of forty years without parole. Erika Vance had fled the country, currently resting on Interpol’s most-wanted red notice list, her syndicate dismantled by federal authorities.
The nightmare was officially, irrevocably behind them.
“Grandma!” Sophie called out, waving a freshly drawn picture in the air. “Look! I drew our house!”
Margaret walked down the porch steps, setting the tray on the rustic wooden picnic table before walking over to the swing. She looked down at the paper. It showed a small, cozy cottage with a massive oak tree in front, two stick figures holding hands by the door, and a bright, oversized smiley face in the corner.
“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” Margaret said softly, kneeling down so she was at eye level with the little girl. “Is that us?”
“Mhm,” Sophie nodded, her brown eyes shining with happiness. “And nobody else. Just us.”
Margaret smiled, brushing a stray curl behind Sophie’s ear. “Just us.”
Sophie slid off the swing, wrapping her arms around Margaret’s neck in a tight, secure hug that carried no trace of fear, no hesitation, and no shadows from the past.
“Grandma?” Sophie whispered into her ear.
“Yes, my love?”
“Can we plant strawberries over by the fence today?”
May you like
Margaret chuckled, kissing the top of Sophie’s head as the afternoon sun warmed their shoulders.
“We can plant all the strawberries you want, Sophie. Every single one in the world.”
