Chapter 8
Ava began real rehabilitation three days later.
Slow.
Painful.
Honest.
No promises.
Dr. Lin made that clear.
“We do not sell miracles,” she said. “We work.”
Ava liked her immediately.
So did I.
The first session lasted twelve minutes.
Ava cried through eight of them.
Not because Dr. Lin pushed too hard.
Because hope hurt.
Hope meant all the months Celeste stole now had shape.
Time had weight.
Noah sat outside the therapy room, banned only because he kept trying to coach from the corner.
Ava insisted he wait where she could see him through the glass.
I waited beside him.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then I looked at his feet.
New sneakers.
Marcus had bought them.
Noah kept touching them like they might vanish.
“Do they fit?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
“You earned more than shoes.”
His face hardened.
“I didn’t help for money.”
“I know.”
“People always think that.”
I looked at him.
“Who?”
He shrugged.
“Shelter people. School people. Rich people.”
I hated that I was one of those categories now.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked surprised.
Good.
Adults probably did not apologize to him often.
Elena came from the cafeteria with coffee.
She looked exhausted.
I asked if she and Noah had somewhere safe to stay.
Her face closed.
“We manage.”
That meant no.
Celeste had threatened their housing through the staff dorms.
I called Olivia Grant, my attorney, and arranged a hotel suite in Elena’s name, not mine.
Elena tried to refuse.
I said, “It is not charity. It is witness protection until the detective says otherwise.”
She accepted that.
Pride sometimes needs a practical door.
That night, Ava asked me to sit beside her bed.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you mad that Noah helped me before you did?”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“Because I didn’t tell you?”
“Because you were afraid to.”
May you like
She reached for my hand.
I held it like a gift.
