“Thank you, Lydia,” I said. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure, Evelyn,” she said.

She turned and walked back to the car.

I carried June into the library.

A fire was crackling in the hearth, throwing warm, orange light across the leather-bound books.

I sat down in the green velvet armchair near the window.

The room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

I looked down at June’s face.

She looked so much like my father—the same high forehead, the same quiet, steady gaze.

“This is all yours now,” I whispered to her.

“Nobody can ever take it from you.”

She made a small, soft sound and closed her eyes, her head resting against my chest.

Outside, the last of the grey light was fading from the sky.

The ocean was quiet now, the tide pulling back from the shore.

The house was warm, and for the first time in a very long time, it was safe.