Chapter 7
We moved to Oregon a month later.
The house was everything I'd dreamed of.
Hardwood floors.
Big windows that let in the light.
A backyard with an old oak tree.
A porch swing where I could sit and watch the rain.
Ethan got a new job at an architecture firm in Portland.
He loved it.
His coworkers were kind.
No one knew about our past.
No one knew about Linda.
We were just a normal couple expecting twins.
I started seeing a therapist.
I talked about the trauma.
About the fear.
About the guilt I sometimes felt for breaking up Ethan's family.
"His family broke itself," my therapist said. "You just exposed the truth. And you protected your children. That's not something to feel guilty about. That's something to be proud of."
I worked on healing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But surely.
The nightmares became less frequent.
I stopped flinching when people touched my stomach.
I started eating again without fear.
Ethan and I went to couples therapy too.
We talked about the years he'd let his mother abuse me.
About the ways he'd failed to protect me.
About how to rebuild trust.
It was hard.
There were arguments.
Tears.
Moments when I wanted to walk away.
But we worked through it.
Because we loved each other.
Because we had two babies on the way.
Because we both wanted this marriage to work.
And slowly, the trust came back.
Stronger than before.
Because this time, it was built on honesty.
Not lies and secrets.
My due date came and went.
The twins were stubborn.
They wanted to stay inside where it was warm and safe.
Finally, at forty-one weeks, I went into labor.
It was long.
Hard.
Painful.
Ethan never left my side.
He held my hand.
He wiped my forehead.
He whispered words of encouragement.
And then, at 3:17 in the morning, our daughter was born.
She was tiny.
Perfect.
She had Ethan's eyes.
And then, two minutes later, our son arrived.
Bigger than his sister.
Loud.
Hungry.
He had my nose.
I held them both.
One in each arm.
Ethan cried as he looked at his children.
"They're perfect," he whispered.
"They are," I agreed.
We named them Lily Grace and Noah James.
They were our everything.
Our fresh start.
Our proof that something beautiful could come from something terrible.
Linda sent a letter from prison a few weeks after they were born.
Ethan didn't even open it.
He threw it away.
"She doesn't get to be part of this," he said. "She lost that right."
I agreed.
Our children would never know their grandmother.
They would never know her cruelty.
Her manipulation.
Her violence.
They would grow up in a house filled with love.
With safety.
May you like
With peace.
And that was the greatest revenge of all.
