On the wall above the crib, the framed prints of vintage botanical illustrations had been rehung.

I walked over to the crib and gently laid Amelia down on the yellow sheet.

She stretched her small arms and let out a soft sigh, settling into the mattress.

I stood there for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall.

The silence of the penthouse was no longer suffocating.

It was peaceful.

The city below hummed with life, but inside these walls, we were safe.

Margaret walked into the nursery, holding two cups of tea.

She handed one to me and stood by my side.

“It looks exactly as it did when you were a child,” Margaret whispered.

“Exactly,” I said.

“The contractors worked through the night to strip Sloane’s wallpaper,” she said.

“They found the original yellow paint underneath.”

“We didn’t even have to color-match it.”

I took a sip of the warm tea, feeling the heat spread through my chest.

The nightmare of the past year felt like a distant, fading shadow.

Nathan would face the court for the fraud he committed.