Chapter 13: Healing Old Wounds
Inside the house, the atmosphere had shifted from a tense waiting room to something resembling a home. The kitchen no longer smelled of old canned goods and stale air; it smelled of baking bread, cinnamon, and fresh coffee that Helen brewed in an old percolator she had dug out of the back of the pantry.
Lily sat at the wooden dining table, crayons scattered everywhere as she drew a picture of the front yard, the sun, and the four of them standing together on the porch. She didn't draw the glass bowl. She didn't draw the dark hallway or the closed doors. Her world had expanded to include color and light and the simple security of knowing she could eat a piece of fruit whenever her stomach rumbled.
Leo walked into the kitchen, carrying an armload of books he had retrieved from the forgotten shelves in the guest room. He dropped them onto the table with a soft thud, pulling out a chair next to Lily.
"What are you drawing?" Leo asked, leaning over to inspect her paper.
"Us," Lily said proudly, holding up the crayon sketch. "With the grass and the big yellow sun."
Leo smiled, his chest feeling remarkably light. He didn't feel the need to stand guard anymore. He didn't need to position himself between Lily and their parents. The invisible war was over, and the adults had finally surrendered to peace.
Through the open kitchen window, they could hear the faint sound of Thomas and Arthur talking near the driveway, their voices mingling with the cheerful chirping of sparrows in the maple tree. Helen walked in from the mudroom carrying a basket of freshly washed laundry, her white blazer long since discarded for a simple cotton sweater.
"Dinner is going to be early tonight," Helen announced, smiling as she ruffled Leo’s brown hair. "Real chicken. Not from a can."
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"Can I help set the table?" Lily asked eagerly, hopping down from her chair.
"Of course," Helen said, her eyes softening. "And this time, you can put anything you want in the glass bowl."
