Chapter 9 - A New Horizon
Six months after that afternoon in the gallery, my life had completely settled into its new, unshakeable reality. The Portugal resort project was breaking ground ahead of schedule, and I had intentionally scaled back my international travel to ensure I was home for dinner every single night.
Isabella had enrolled in a wonderful bilingual school near our penthouse. Her grades were flourishing, her art projects covered our refrigerator, and the terrified, hyper-vigilant girl who had dragged trash bags through the mud in Marbella felt like a distant, tragic character from a book I had once read.
On a warm Saturday evening, we sat on the expansive private terrace of the penthouse, watching the sun dip below the Madrid skyline, painting the clouds in shades of amber and violet.
Isabella sat cross-legged on a outdoor lounger, sketching in a new notebook.
"Dad?" she asked, not looking up from her drawing.
"Yes, Izzy?"
"Are we happy now?"
I smiled, setting my coffee cup down on the glass table. I walked over, sat down beside her, and pulled her close, breathing in the scent of fresh shampoo.
May you like
"We were always going to be happy, sweetheart," I told her softly, looking out over the glittering expanse of the city where we had found our safety. "We just had to clear out the garbage first."
She giggled, leaning her head against my shoulder, her small hand resting comfortably over mine—completely whole, completely healed, and completely safe.
