“It’s a castle, Tessa.”

I looked down at Ivy, who was blinking her blue eyes at the high ceiling.

I lifted her out of the car seat and held her warm, tiny body close to my chest.

She smelled of baby powder and sweet milk.

“Welcome home, Ivy,” I whispered, kissing her soft forehead.

Molly wiped a tear from her cheek.

“He can’t touch you here,” Molly said.

“He can’t touch either of you.”

Two weeks later, the smell of fresh yellow paint filled the upper hallway.

The nursery was completely finished.

A white wooden crib stood in the corner, covered in a soft wool blanket.

I sat in the rocking chair by the window, cradling Ivy as she drifted off to sleep.

My phone sat on the small wooden table next to me, muted.

A news article on the screen detailed the foreclosure of the Redwood Crest Drive mansion.

Brent’s name was listed under a federal inquiry regarding his failed real estate developments.

Diane and Karen had moved into a small, rented apartment on the outskirts of town.