“I’m thinking about doing something necessary.”
“Thomas—”
“He put a gun on my niece, Linda.”
“I know.”
“In your house.”
“I know.”
“And you want me to just let the cops handle it?”
“Yes,” I said firmly. “Because that’s what Emily needs. She doesn’t need you in jail. She needs you here.”
Thomas looked away, his jaw tight.
But he nodded.
Diane squeezed my hand.
“She’s going to be okay,” she said.
“I know.”
“It’s going to take time.”
“I know that too.”
“But she’s strong.”
I looked toward the hallway, where my daughter was finally, finally sleeping without someone’s hand around her throat.
“Yeah,” I said. “She is.”
We stayed up until almost two in the morning, talking in low voices, planning.
Tomorrow we’d go to the apartment with a police escort and get Emily’s things.
Tomorrow we’d call a locksmith.
Tomorrow we’d call her employer and explain.
Tomorrow we’d start building the life Emily should have had all along.
But tonight, we just sat together in the quiet house, and we let the relief settle in.
Caleb Torres was in custody.
Emily was safe.
And for the first time in seven months, my daughter was sleeping in a house where no one was going to hurt her.
I went to check on her one more time before bed.
She was curled on her side, her face peaceful in sleep.
And tucked under her pillow, I saw the edge of something white.
