The girls’ furniture had arrived that morning, and their rooms were already filled with their toys and books.

I sat at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of coffee and looking at the local newspaper.

On the front page of the business section was a small article about Graham.

He had pleaded guilty to ten counts of federal wire fraud and was sentenced to twelve years in a federal penitentiary.

His mother had moved into a small, state-subsidized senior apartment in North Dallas.

The Ralston name was gone from the local social registers, erased as quickly as it had been built.

I folded the newspaper and placed it in the recycling bin.

The front door opened, and I heard the sound of laughter filling the hallway.

Ruby and Hazel came running into the kitchen, their cheeks pink from the cool autumn air.

“Mommy, look what we found in the yard!” Ruby shouted, holding up a small, smooth stone.

“It’s a lucky rock,” Hazel said, leaning against my knee.

I took the stone and held it in my hand.

“It certainly is,” I said, smiling at them.

The girls ran off toward the living room, their soft footsteps disappearing down the long hallway.

For the first time in many years, the house felt warm and quiet.

I stood up, walked to the window, and looked out over the green lawn of our new home.

We were safe, we were secure, and the future belonged entirely to us.