Every creak of the floorboards had felt like a threat.

Every phone call had made my chest tight.

Now, the air felt clear.

I scooped Lila into my arms.

She stirred, murmuring something about her toy rabbit.

“I have you, baby,” I whispered.

“We are safe.”

I carried her out of the safe room.

Daniel followed us, guarding our rear as we walked back to the main house.

In the kitchen, the lights were bright and warm.

The copper pots hung from the ceiling, reflecting the light.

I sat Lila down on the breakfast nook.

She blinked her eyes open, yawning.

“Mommy?” she asked.

“Where is Daddy?”

“He is upstairs, sweetie,” I said.

“He is talking to an old friend.”

“Are the bad men gone?” she asked.

She was too smart for a four-year-old.

“Yes,” I said.

“They are gone.”

“They are never coming back.”

I made her a cup of warm milk with a spoonful of honey.

She drank it slowly, her small hands wrapped around the ceramic mug.

Marcus came into the kitchen a few minutes later.

His coat was wet from the rain.