Chapter 8 - CALEB’S NINTH BIRTHDAY
Six months later.
The backyard of our Bellevue home was filled with the sounds of children laughing, balloons popping, and party music playing from outdoor speakers.
It was Caleb’s ninth birthday—the first birthday I had celebrated with him in person since he was three years old.
We had invited his entire third-grade class from the local elementary school, along with neighbors, Detective Reyes, and her family. Banners hanging between the cedar trees read: HAPPY 9TH BIRTHDAY, CALEB!
At the center of the lawn stood a massive inflatable obstacle course. Caleb and four of his schoolmates were racing through it, their shouts of joy ringing across the neighborhood.
I sat on the wooden back deck beside Detective Reyes, holding a cold glass of lemonade.
"He looks happy, Mara," Reyes said, watching Caleb cross the finish line of the obstacle course and raise his arms in victory.
"He's sleeping through the night now," I said, a deep sense of peace settling in my chest. "For the first three months, he used to wake up every night at 3:00 AM, checking the doors to make sure the black SUV wasn't outside. But now... he knows he's safe."
"How are your parents doing?" Reyes asked.
"Dad started physical therapy last month," I smiled, pointing toward the garden bed at the edge of the lawn.
My father was standing near the tomato plants, showing a group of neighborhood kids how to plant seeds in the soil. He was using a sleek, modern cane now, but his posture was upright, his strength returning day by day.
My mother emerged from the kitchen carrying a massive, three-tiered chocolate cake decorated with toy dinosaurs—the exact theme Caleb had loved when he was three, and one he had never gotten to enjoy.
"Cake time!" my mother called out.
The kids swarmed the picnic tables, cheering loudly.
Caleb ran up the deck steps, his face flushed red from running, his brown eyes shining with pure delight. He stopped right in front of me, wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his arm, and wrapped his arms around my waist.
"Thank you, Mom," he whispered against my shirt.
I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his soft hair. "For what, baby?"
"For coming back from Switzerland," he said softly. "Grandma said you fought a dragon to come get us."
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I pulled back, looking into my son's bright, clear eyes, seeing no trace of the terrified, dirt-smudged boy who had flinched away from me at that downtown intersection six months ago.
"I’d fight a hundred dragons for you, Caleb," I said softly. "Every single day."
