Chapter 18
The next few years were the golden years.
The years where everything just worked.
Where life was easy and happy and full.
Lily turned sixteen.
She got her driver’s license.
She got a beat-up old car James had fixed up for her.
She had her first real boyfriend.
A nice boy named Ethan who played soccer too.
Who opened doors for her.
Who brought her flowers.
Who James threatened within an inch of his life the first time he came to the house.
I had to hold James back.
“Be nice,” I whispered.
“I am being nice. I didn’t show him my gun collection.”
“You don’t have a gun collection.”
“Exactly. He doesn’t know that.”
Lily rolled her eyes.
But I saw her smiling.
She knew her daddy loved her.
Grace turned fifteen.
She was in high school now.
Beautiful.
Smart.
Talented.
She’d won a full scholarship to art school.
She was going to study to be a children’s book illustrator.
She wanted to write and draw books for kids who’d been through trauma.
Books that would tell them they were safe.
That they were loved.
That it gets better.
She’d already written and illustrated her first book.
It was called The Magic Unicorn.
It was about a little girl who was lost and scared.
Who found a magic unicorn that protected her.
Who helped her find her way home.
It was dedicated to Lily.
“To my big sister,” it said. “My magic unicorn. Thank you for finding me.”
We all cried when we read it.
James’ construction company and foundation were bigger than ever.
He’d built over three hundred homes.
He’d helped thousands of single mothers.
He was offered a job in the President’s administration.
Head of Housing and Urban Development.
He turned it down.
“I don’t want to live in Washington D.C.,” he said. “I want to live here. With my family. Building homes one at a time. Seeing the look on a mother’s face when she gets the keys to her new house. That’s where I belong.”
I was proud of him.
So proud.
My foundation had helped find over five hundred missing children.
Five hundred families reunited.
Five hundred children brought home.
I traveled all over the country.
All over the world.
Speaking.
Advocating.
Fighting for kids.
But I always came home.
Home was where my heart was.
Home was James.
Home was Lily and Grace.
Home was our little farmhouse.
Our big yard.
Our old dog Sunshine, who was now twelve and gray around the muzzle, but still happy to see us.
Home was Darlene and her husband, coming over every Sunday for dinner.
Home was Sarah and her family, barbecuing with us in the summer.
Home was Detective Rao and his wife, fishing with James on the weekends.
Home was all of it.
All the love.
All the laughter.
All the memories.
We celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary that year.
Ten years since we’d renewed our vows on the beach.
We went back to that same beach.
The same cottage.
We walked along the shore at sunset.
Just like we’d done ten years before.
James put his arm around me.
“Can you believe it?” he said. “Twenty years. Two beautiful daughters. One amazing son we miss every day. All of this. Who would have thought, after everything we went through, we’d end up here?”
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
“I knew. Even in the darkest days. Even when I hated you a little for not believing me. Even when I thought we’d lose everything. I knew we’d make it. Because we had love. Real love. The kind that doesn’t break. The kind that fights. The kind that lasts.”
He kissed me.
Soft and slow.
Just like he’d done on our wedding day.
Just like he’d done when he’d renewed our vows.
“I love you, Emily Carter. More today than yesterday. Less than tomorrow.”
“I love you too, James Carter. Forever and always.”
That night, we got a phone call.
It was late.
Almost midnight.
James answered it.
His face went pale.
Then he started crying.
Happy tears.
Relieved tears.
He hung up the phone and turned to me.
“That was the FBI,” he said, his voice breaking. “They found her. They found the five hundred and first child. A little boy. Taken from his mother twelve years ago. They found him in Mexico. He’s alive. He’s coming home.”
I cried too.
We held each other, crying happy tears, listening to the ocean.
Another child home.
Another family whole again.
It never got old.
That feeling.
That pure, perfect joy.
We went to sleep that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing we’d done good.
That our lives had mattered.
That Daniel’s short life had not been in vain.
That Clara’s love was still working through us.
Making the world a better place.
One child at a time.
One family at a time.
One act of love at a time.
May you like
It was enough.
More than enough.
