Really laughed.
The kind of laugh that comes from the center of your chest and doesn’t stop.
Madison grabbed her hand across the table.
“I missed that sound,” she said.
“Me too,” Emily said.
That night, after everyone had gone home, Emily and I sat on the porch with mugs of tea.
The air was cool. The stars were out.
Everything was quiet.
“Mom?” Emily said.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for not giving up on me.”
“I never would.”
“I know. But thank you anyway.”
I looked at my daughter.
She looked older now. Stronger. Like she’d survived something that should have killed her and decided to live anyway.
“I’m proud of you,” I said.
Her eyes filled.
“I’m proud of me too.”
We sat there for a long time, just breathing.
Just being.
Just knowing that the worst was behind us.
And then Emily said something I’ll never forget.
“I’m going to be okay, aren’t I?”
I reached over and took her hand.
“Yeah, baby,” I said. “You are.”
Three months later, Emily moved into her own apartment.
Not the one she’d shared with Caleb.
A new one. Small, bright, with windows that faced east so the morning light poured in.
She decorated it herself.
Pictures of her and Madison on the walls.
