Chapter 10 - The Garden of Unbreakable Roots
One year later.
The Oregon summer had arrived, turning the coastal forest into an explosion of vibrant green and gold. The air was warm, sweet with the scent of wild blackberries and sea salt blowing off the Pacific.
In the backyard of the craftsman house, the French doors stood wide open, welcoming the breeze. A long wooden picnic table was set up on the lawn, covered in wildflowers, platters of grilled cedar-plank salmon, and a small, organic smash cake topped with a single golden candle.
It was Luna’s first birthday.
Cole was there, wearing a Hawaiian shirt that looked utterly ridiculous over his scarred, muscular frame, patiently allowing Luna to drape plastic beaded necklaces around his neck. David Sterling had flown down from Portland, sitting in a lawn chair, laughing with Marcus over a bottle of local Pinot Noir.
Emma stood near the newly built raised garden beds at the edge of the lawn. She had planted heirloom tomatoes, lavender, and sweet peas that were already climbing high up the cedar trellises.
Her phone sat on the wooden bench beside her. It vibrated once.
It was an automated notification from a Columbus news outlet she still had an alert set for.
*Former Developer Richard Vance Passes Away in Long-Term Care Facility at Age 62.*
Emma picked up the phone. She read the short obituary. It mentioned his career. It mentioned his surviving wife, Eleanor, who was reportedly living in a small assisted-living facility outside Cincinnati after declaring personal bankruptcy.
At the very bottom, the obituary read: *Preceded in death by his family.*
No mention of Khloe, who was currently serving year two of twenty-two in a federal cell.
No mention of Emma.
To the world they had curated, Emma no longer existed.
Emma looked at the screen for a long, quiet moment. There was no sadness. There was no grief. That grief had been mourned and buried on the bottom step of a staircase covered in ugly beige carpet two thousand miles away.
She closed the browser. She went into her settings, found the news alert, and deleted it permanently.
“Hey, birthday girl,” Marcus’s voice called out.
Emma turned.
Marcus was walking across the lush green grass, carrying Luna on his shoulders. Luna had sweet potato frosting smeared across both cheeks and was clutching a yellow dandelion in her fist like a royal scepter.
“Your mother has been out here talking to the tomatoes,” Marcus told Luna with a grin. “Should we tell her the cake is melting?”
Luna giggled, kicking her tiny legs against Marcus’s chest. “Mama!” she chirped. “Mama!”
Emma walked across the lawn toward them. The grass was cool against her bare feet. Her left ankle held her weight perfectly—strong, healed, unbreakable.
She reached up, taking Luna from Marcus’s shoulders and pressing her close. The little girl smelled of baby shampoo, warm sunshine, and vanilla.
“Happy birthday, my brave girl,” Emma whispered into her ear.
Luna patted Emma’s cheek with a sticky hand, then leaned her head against Emma’s shoulder, perfectly content, completely safe.
Marcus wrapped his arms around both of them from behind, resting his chin on Emma’s shoulder. They stood together in the warm afternoon light, looking out over the home they had built with their own hands, their own courage, and their own truth.
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The roots they had planted here weren't bound by blood, guilt, or fear.
They were bound by love. And nothing would ever tear them down again.
