Swallowed hard, Ava. Tears filled her eyes. She whispered, “Thank you.”
It was enough.
Charles and Linda moved within a week.
Shaking, Ava fell into my arms that night. “I didn’t know how to say no,” she sobbed.
“You don’t have to explain,” I hugged her. “You wanted peace. But peace isn’t peace if it costs everything.”
The following days were devoted regaining her space. We organized closets, changed furniture, and opened all windows. Sunlight entered. Ava laughed more. She moved easier. She hummed while making coffee.
I threw her keys Saturday. Take that automobile for a spin.”
We drove with windows down, hair in the wind, and loud music. First time in months, she smiled easily.
In the quiet living room that night, she put her head on my shoulder.
“I forgot what it felt like to be me,” she muttered.
I kissed her crown.
Her role isn’t servant. She’s no maid. My daughter. Nobody forgets that.
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