Chapter 9
Spring brought the yellow house.
It had white trim, a crooked mailbox, and a porch swing Lily claimed before Emily even signed the papers.
The first time we toured it, Lily ran from room to room yelling, “This one is mine! This one is Mommy’s! This one is for pancakes!”
Emily looked overwhelmed.
The realtor smiled politely.
I stayed near the doorway and said nothing.
This was Emily’s moment.
Her money.
Her name.
Her future.
When she signed the closing documents, her hand shook.
Not from fear.
From the size of it.
Afterward, she sat in her car and cried.
I stood outside the driver’s window, unsure whether to knock.
She rolled it down.
“I own a house,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I have a mortgage.”
“Yes.”
“That is horrifying.”
“A little.”
She laughed through tears.
“Daniel and I used to talk about this. A porch. A garden. A room for Lily with yellow curtains.”
“You did it.”
Her face trembled.
“We were supposed to do it together.”
“I know.”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Can grief and happiness happen at the same time?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
I looked at the house.
“Because I’m standing here happy for you and sad for myself.”
She turned to me.
“Sad?”
“You won’t be at the cottage.”
Her expression softened.
“Adrian.”
“I know. This is good.”
“It is.”
“I’m proud of you.”
She cried harder.
I leaned against the car and waited while she let the feeling pass.
Moving day became chaos.
Rose packed dishes like they were museum artifacts.
Marcus carried furniture and complained about modern screws.
Lily labeled every box with crayon drawings because she could not spell most words yet.
A box with a circle and lines meant plates.
A box with a lopsided rabbit meant important things.
A box with Marcus’s eyebrows meant tools.
By sunset, the yellow house looked like a life unpacking itself.
Emily stood in the kitchen, hands on hips.
“I don’t know where anything is.”
Lily opened a cabinet.
“Cookies here.”
Emily laughed.
“We do not have cookies.”
Lily looked at me.
“Mr. Adrian?”
I pulled a small package from my coat.
Emily gasped.
“You did not.”
“I was instructed by a serious homeowner.”
Lily cheered.
Emily tried to glare.
Failed.
That night, we ate pizza on the living room floor.
No table yet.
No curtains hung.
Boxes everywhere.
Lily fell asleep halfway through a slice, sauce on her cheek.
Emily carried her to bed.
When she returned, the room was quiet.
She sat beside me on the floor.
“I thought I would feel scared tonight.”
“Do you?”
“A little. But not like before.”
“That’s good.”
“I keep listening for locks.”
“I checked them.”
“I know.”
“And the windows.”
“I know.”
“And the backyard gate.”
She smiled.
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“Too much?”
“No. Just very you.”
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
New.
Emily leaned her head against my shoulder.
I did not move.
“I miss Daniel,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“Sometimes I feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“For being alive. For laughing. For wanting…”
She stopped.
“For wanting?” I asked softly.
She lifted her head.
“For wanting a future that isn’t only about what happened to us.”
I turned toward her.
“Daniel loved you.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then he would want Lily safe.”
“Yes.”
“And you happy.”
Her mouth trembled.
“I think so.”
“I know so.”
“How?”
“Because love that real does not turn selfish after death.”
She stared at me.
Then she kissed me.
Not on the cheek this time.
It was gentle at first.
A question.
Then an answer.
When she pulled away, both of us were breathing differently.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Me too.”
“That helps.”
“It does?”
“Yes. It means I’m not the only one with shaky knees.”
I laughed softly.
She smiled.
Then a floorboard creaked down the hall.
We both froze.
Emily stood first.
“Lily?”
No answer.
I moved toward the hallway.
The front window shattered.
Glass exploded across the living room.
Emily screamed.
I pulled her behind me.
A brick landed on the floor, wrapped in paper.
Outside, a car tore away.
I ran to the porch, but it was already gone.
Marcus had warned me there might be loyalists.
Men who hated that the old system had fallen.
Men who blamed Emily.
I picked up the brick.
The note was taped around it.
Widows should stay quiet.
Emily read it over my shoulder.
All the color left her face.
For one terrible moment, I saw the basement return to her eyes.
Then Lily cried from her bedroom.
Emily ran.
I called Marcus.
“We have a problem.”
His voice sharpened.
“Location?”
“Emily’s house.”
“Anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“I’m coming.”
Police arrived.
Then Marcus.
Then federal protection officers.
Emily held Lily on the couch while glass was swept from the rug.
Lily kept asking if the bad men were back.
Emily answered each time.
“No, baby. They are not coming inside.”
But her voice shook.
At dawn, security footage from a neighbor’s camera showed the car.
By noon, Marcus had a name.
Paul Voss.
Richard Voss’s nephew.
A small man with a large grievance and enough stupidity to act on it.
He was arrested before dinner.
But the damage was done.
Emily sat on the porch swing after Lily slept.
“I thought I was free.”
“You are.”
“Then why am I still afraid?”
“Because fear leaves fingerprints.”
She looked at me.
“I hate that.”
“I do too.”
She wrapped her arms around herself.
“I don’t want to run back to your mansion.”
“Then don’t.”
She blinked.
I sat beside her.
“This is your house. We make it safe. We don’t let him steal it.”
Her eyes filled.
“We?”
“If you want.”
She reached for my hand.
“I want.”
So we stayed.
Marcus put a car outside.
I slept in the living room chair.
Emily slept with Lily.
May you like
The yellow house held.
And by morning, fear had not won.
