Chapter 10 - The Easter Table
Nine months later, spring returned to North Carolina.
It was Easter Sunday. The sun was warm and bright, painting the green lawn in shades of brilliant gold.
In our backyard, under the shade of our sprawling oak tree, stood a long wooden dining table set with bright yellow napkins, fresh wildflowers, and bowls of delicious homemade food.
There were no twenty-three spineless statues sitting around this table. There were ten people—people who had proven their loyalty, their love, and their kindness through the hardest storms of my life.
Theo sat at the head of the table, wearing a pair of silly plush bunny ears, proudly holding a giant gold-painted plastic egg he had found during our backyard egg hunt. A small smudge of milk chocolate was smeared across his chin—the exact same chocolate smudge from a year ago.
Only this time, nobody looked at him with disgust. Nobody whispered behind their hands.
Rachel leaned over, wiping the chocolate from his chin with a napkin, making him giggle uncontrollably.
"Speech! Speech!" Marlo cheered, tapping her glass with a spoon.
Everyone at the table laughed, turning their warm, expectant faces toward me.
I stood up at the end of the table, holding a glass of sparkling apple cider. I looked at my daughter, whose fierce courage had sparked a revolution nine months ago. I looked at my son, whose gentle soul had shown me what was truly worth fighting for. And I looked at the incredible friends who had stood by us when the world felt dark.
"A year ago today," I said, my voice strong, steady, and filled with deep emotion, "I thought keeping the peace meant keeping quiet. I thought swallowing pain was what love looked like."
I raised my glass high into the clear spring air.
"I was wrong," I smiled, looking around the table at the glowing, loving faces. "Peace isn't something you get by keeping quiet. Peace is something you build when you finally decide you deserve it. To family—the one we choose, and the one that chooses us."
"To family!" everyone cheered in unison, clinking their glasses together under the warm spring sun.
Theo reached across the table, grabbing my hand with his small, sticky fingers, looking up at me with bright, happy eyes. "I love our table, Mama."
May you like
I leaned down and kissed his forehead, holding him tight against my chest.
"I love our table too, sweetie," I whispered. "And there will always, always be a seat for you here."
