Chapter 17
A year after Clara died, life started to feel normal again.
A new normal.
Without Clara.
But still good.
Still full of love.
Lily turned twelve.
She was in seventh grade now.
Almost a teenager.
She was still playing soccer.
She was the captain of her team.
She led them to the state championship that year.
She scored the winning goal in the final minute of the final game.
We screamed so loud we lost our voices.
After the game, she ran over to us.
Holding her trophy.
Sweaty and dirty and smiling bigger than I’d ever seen her smile.
“This is for Aunt Clara,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I know she was watching.”
We all cried.
Grace turned eleven.
She was in fifth grade.
She was still quiet.
Still loved to read and draw.
But she’d come out of her shell so much.
She’d joined the school art club.
She’d won first place in the county art contest for a drawing she’d done of Clara and Daniel under the oak tree.
The drawing hung in the county courthouse now.
She was so proud.
James’ foundation had built its hundredth home.
We had a big celebration.
All the families who’d gotten homes came.
There were hundreds of people.
Kids running everywhere.
Food.
Music.
Laughter.
James gave a speech.
He talked about Clara.
About how she’d taught him that the true measure of a man is how much he gives.
“Clara used to say, ‘To whom much is given, much is expected,’” he said. “We’ve been given so much. Love. Family. Friends. A second chance at happiness. The least we can do is give back. Help others get their second chance too.”
Everyone cheered.
My foundation had helped find its two hundredth missing child.
Two hundred families reunited.
Two hundred children brought home.
We had a gala to celebrate.
Not the fancy, cold kind Margaret used to throw.
A warm, happy one.
Full of families.
Full of kids running around.
Full of love.
I gave a speech that night.
I talked about Daniel.
About Grace.
About Lily.
About how losing Daniel and almost losing the girls had broken me.
But how that broken place was where the love had gotten in.
“Pain is inevitable,” I said. “Suffering is optional. You can let the pain destroy you. Or you can let it make you stronger. Kinder. More loving. I chose to let it make me better. For Daniel. For Grace. For Lily. For every child out there who still needs someone to fight for them. We will keep fighting. We will keep looking. We will keep loving. As long as there is one child missing, we will not stop.”
The standing ovation lasted five minutes.
But the best part of the night was when the two hundredth child we’d found came up on stage.
A little girl named Mia.
Seven years old.
Taken from her mother when she was a baby.
Found three months before, living in another state.
She stood on the stage, holding her mother’s hand, and smiled at the crowd.
“Thank you for finding me,” she said. “I’m home now.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
That summer, we took the girls to Europe.
A month-long trip.
We went to France.
Italy.
Spain.
We saw the Eiffel Tower.
The Colosseum.
The Sistine Chapel.
We ate too much pasta.
Drank too much wine.
Laughed until our sides hurt.
Grace drew everywhere we went.
She filled three sketchbooks.
Lily took hundreds of photos.
James and I held hands and walked through old cities, talking about the future.
About growing old together.
About watching the girls grow up.
About all the adventures we still had ahead of us.
It was the best trip of our lives.
When we got home, we had a big surprise waiting for us.
The letter was from the White House.
I was being awarded the Presidential Citizens Medal.
For my work with the Daniel Carter Foundation.
For helping find missing children.
For being an inspiration to millions.
I couldn’t believe it.
Me.
A girl from a small town.
Who’d lost her son.
Who’d almost lost her daughters.
Who’d fought a monster and won.
I was going to the White House.
To meet the President.
To get a medal.
The whole family came with me.
James.
Lily.
Grace.
Darlene.
Sarah and her family.
Detective Rao and his wife.
Ben and his wife.
Dr. Maya.
All our people.
The ceremony was beautiful.
The President put the medal around my neck.
He shook my hand.
He told me I was an inspiration.
That my work was changing the world.
I looked out at my family.
At James, smiling so proud he was about to burst.
At Lily and Grace, waving wildly.
At all the people who loved me.
And I thought about Clara.
About Daniel.
I knew they were watching.
I knew they were proud.
After the ceremony, we had a big dinner at a fancy restaurant in Washington D.C.
We ate too much.
Drank too much.
Laughed too much.
Lily raised her glass.
“To Mommy,” she said. “The bravest, bestest mommy in the whole world. We love you.”
Everyone raised their glasses.
“To Emily!” they cheered.
I cried.
Happy tears.
Grateful tears.
I’d been through so much.
Lost so much.
But I’d gained so much more.
Love.
Family.
Friends.
Purpose.
I had everything I’d ever wanted.
May you like
Everything I’d ever dreamed of.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that the best was yet to come.
