Chapter 13 - COMING HOME
On Sunday morning, the hospital doors finally slid open for Molly.
She walked out holding my hand, wearing a brand-new soft pink fleece jacket Calvin had picked out for her in the hospital gift shop, along with a pair of warm sheepskin boots. Calvin walked on her other side, holding her backpack like a seasoned bodyguard.
Dr. Reed met us at the main entrance, smiling warmly.
“You take care of that heart, Molly,” Marcus said, crouching down to gently tap her chest. “It’s a tough one.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reed,” Molly whispered, giving him a shy smile before throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you for making me warm.”
Marcus looked over her shoulder at me, his eyes shining with emotion. “Get them out of here, Lauren. Go home.”
When we pulled into our driveway, the house looked unrecognizable from the disaster of New Year’s morning.
The lawn had been completely cleared of debris, raked, and manicured by a local landscaping crew that had refused to accept my payment after hearing what had happened. On the front porch, three large baskets of flowers and dozens of handmade cards from the neighborhood children sat waiting.
Buster, our golden retriever, was sitting on the front lawn with our neighbor, his tail thumping against the ground like a drumbeat the moment he saw our SUV.
“Buster!” Molly squealed, running across the grass and burying her face in the dog’s thick, warm fur. The dog whined with sheer ecstasy, licking her cheeks and knocking her gently onto her back in the soft grass.
Calvin stood beside me on the porch, looking up at the front door.
“Mom?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, buddy?”
“Is it really just us now?”
I wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight against my side. “Just us, Calvin. No more mooching. No more lies. No more walking on eggshells in our own home.”
Calvin took a deep, shuddering breath, and for the first time in four days, I saw the tension leave his young shoulders.
We walked inside.
The house was warm, bright, and completely transformed. The living room now held a massive, plush sectional couch in warm charcoal gray that had been delivered that morning from a local furniture store. A fire crackled peacefully in the stone fireplace, sending a gentle, cozy warmth through the open-concept first floor.
On the dining table, a massive spread of hot food—fried chicken, fresh biscuits, steaming corn chowder, and a giant chocolate cake—had been delivered by Arthur Sterling’s personal chef with a handwritten note from Julianna:
*“To Calvin and Molly: You are the bravest kids in the world. Enjoy the cake. With all our love and deepest apologies, Julianna and Arthur.”*
Molly gasped when she saw the cake. “Mom! It’s chocolate! Can we eat it right now?”
“Before lunch?” I feigned a stern doctor’s frown, then broke into a wide smile. “Absolutely. Plates are in the cabinet, Calvin. Let’s feast.”
That afternoon was filled with laughter, the sound of dog paws clicking on the hardwood, and the glorious, mundane comfort of home.
As the sun began to set, casting long amber shadows across the living room, I sat on the couch with a cup of hot tea, watching Calvin teach Molly a new video game on the large screen.
My phone chimed with an email notification from my attorney, Victoria Vance:
*“Plea agreement rejected by Ross Vance. He is insisting on going to trial. Evelyn has suffered a minor panic attack in holding and has been transferred to the medical observation unit. Trial date is set for March fourteenth. Rest easy, Lauren. We hold all the cards.”*
I closed the email, set the phone face down on the side table, and pulled the warm fleece blanket over my lap.
Let them have their trial.
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Because when March came, I wouldn't be hiding behind a glass partition. I would be sitting on the witness stand, and the whole world would hear the truth.
***
