With those two signatures, the long shadow Eleanor had cast over our lives was gone.

The board members stood up and began to applaud.

It was not a loud, boisterous sound, but a polite, respectful acknowledgment of a new era.

We spent the next two hours going through the immediate transition details.

When we finally walked out of the building, the autumn air was crisp and clean.

The leaves in Greenwich were turning vibrant shades of red and gold.

Nathan took my hand as we walked down the stone steps toward our car.

“It is over, Emily,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“We are safe,” I said, looking up at him.

“They are safe,” he corrected gently, pulling me close.

Two days later, we drove down to the small town in West Virginia.

The drive was long, but the highway was clear and the mountain air grew fresher with every mile.

We pulled up to the small, white-sided rental house where my siblings were waiting.

Johnny was sitting on the front porch, tossing a baseball into his glove.