Chapter 7 - The Healing Process
Recovery wasn't a straight line. Jessica had to endure physical therapy for her wrist and months of counseling to process the trauma. We moved her out of the house she shared with her husband—who had proven himself to be as spineless as his mother—and into a small, sun-drenched cottage near the woods where she felt safe.
I went back to my shop. I started building that crib again, but this time, the wood felt different. I spent hours sanding the walnut, making it smooth enough to feel like silk. I wanted the baby to grow up in a world where things were built with care, not stolen through force.
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"You're making it too perfect, Dad," Jessica said one afternoon, watching me.
"Nothing is too perfect for a child born into a family that finally learned how to fight for itself," I replied.
