Emma smiled, finally satisfied.
I left her door open a few inches and returned to the hallway. From there I could see the framed photograph we had hung beside her room: Claire holding newborn Emma, me beside them, all three of us caught in one bright, trembling moment before we understood how much we would have to survive.
The house settled around us.
No hidden lenses watched from the shelves. No voice waited in the dark to tell a child she was unwanted. No one would ever make Emma doubt where she belonged again.
From her bed, just before sleep took her, she called softly, “Goodnight, Mommy.”
Then she added, “Goodnight, Daddy.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” I said.
Outside, the first stars came out over the quiet street.
Inside, my daughter slept with Bunny in her arms, surrounded by every proof that she had always been loved.
