Chapter 8 - The Simple Life
Two years later.
The grand mansion in Greenwich had been sold. Michael didn't want his daughters growing up in a place shadowed by painful memories.
Instead, they moved to a charming, four-bedroom colonial house in Concord, Massachusetts, surrounded by five acres of rolling green hills, wildflower gardens, and an ancient apple orchard.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon in late September.
The orchard was laden with crisp, red apples. The air smelled of fallen leaves, sweet cinnamon, and fresh soil.
In the backyard, a simple wooden treehouse sat securely in the branches of a grand maple tree—built by Michael and the girls over two weekends during the summer.
Michael was sitting on a wooden bench beneath the tree, wearing an old flannel shirt and jeans, reading a book.
Sophie, now eleven, was sitting on a blanket beside him, sketching the orchard in her sketchbook. She was an accomplished young artist now, her drawings filled with vibrant colors and warmth.
"Daddy, look," Sophie said, turning her sketchbook toward him.
It was a drawing of their house, the orchard, and three figures holding hands under the big maple tree—Michael, Emma, and Sophie, with a bright yellow sun beaming above them.
"That's beautiful, Sophie," Michael smiled, kissing the top of her head. "Frame-worthy."
From the treehouse above, Emma peeked her head out of the wooden window. "Hey! Dad! Is the pie ready yet?!"
"Maria said ten more minutes, Emma!" Michael called up, laughing. "And don't jump off the ladder!"
"I'm eleven, Dad! I know how ladders work!" Emma shouted back, though she carefully climbed down the wooden rungs anyway, landing on the soft grass with a thump.
She ran over and flopped down on the blanket beside Sophie and Michael, grabbing an apple from the basket.
"You know what today is, Dad?" Emma asked, taking a crisp bite of the apple.
Michael smiled, wrapping one arm around Emma and the other around Sophie. "Tell me."
"It's three years since we moved to Concord," Emma said softly. "And it's three years since we've been completely happy."
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Michael looked at his two daughters. They were growing up so fast—smart, confident, kind, and completely free from the ghosts of their past. The trauma of that terrifying night in Greenwich had not destroyed them; it had only brought them closer, forging an unbreakable bond between a father and his daughters.
"We are going to be happy for a lot longer than three years, Emma," Michael promised softly. "We have a whole lifetime ahead of us."
