CHAPTER 13: Whispers of the Past
Despite their peace, healing was not a straight line. There were nights when Eleanor would wake up gasping for air, disoriented in the dark, believing she was still trapped beneath the foundation of the old estate.
On those nights, Gabriel never spoke false reassurances. He would simply turn on the bedside lamp, hold her hands firmly against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat, and remind her of the open window and the ocean breeze.
"You're in Oregon," he would whisper steadily. "The door is unlocked. Lily is asleep in the next room. You are safe."
Lily, too, had her moments of hesitation. Whenever a heavy door clicked shut too quickly, she would freeze and look for her parents. But slowly, surrounded by unconditional love and open spaces, the trauma began to lose its sharp edges.
One evening, Lily brought a sketchbook to the dinner table. She opened it to reveal a drawing of four figures holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun: Gabriel with his tattooed arms, Eleanor with a crown of flowers, Lily herself, and Clara holding a clipboard.
"Look, Mommy," Lily beamed, pointing at the sketch. "No walls."
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Eleanor pressed a kiss to the top of Lily's head, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "No walls, baby. Never again."
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