He grins. “Exactly.”
I reach for the remote and flick the television on, seeing a news report pop up. It’s the same story that has been on for the last few weeks. It’s swarming every television and magazine in the country.
“This again,” Noah says, his voice tight.
“Yeah,” I murmur, letting him go and moving around the couch to sit down beside him. “I don’t understand why anyone would want to make themselves famous for living through such an ordeal.”
His body tightens. “Neither do I. I’d happily spend the rest of my life never thinking about what happened in that forest, let alone writing a book about it.”
I cross my legs and watch the screen. A young girl, Marlie Jacobson, was recently taken by a serial killer dubbed the Watcher near Denver, Colorado. It was said that she escaped after killing him. It’s what happened afterward that really shocked the world. She went from a nobody to a famous author overnight when a book was released about her ordeal and she made millions.
“I heard her mother was behind the book,” I say, watching intently. “Look how broken she looks.”
The girl on the screen is walking down the street, head down, her mother following close behind her, smiling and waving at the cameras. The girl has a distinct limp; from what I read, the killer broke her knees. She’s not very old. And from my own experience, living through something like that is a damned nightmare. I wish I could take her into my arms and tell her it’ll be okay. Nobody deserves to live through that.
“She doesn’t look happy,” Noah says, his eyes on the screen. “That’s for sure.”
“Why would any mother want to make money from her child’s heartbreak?”
Noah shrugs, running his hand absently through Bethy’s hair. “It’s pretty fucked up.”
“Poor girl,” I say, lifting the remote and flicking the television off. “Could you imagine reliving that horror over and over every time someone brings up her book? It’s hard enough to move on. We both know that.”
Noah’s eyes find mine and he smiles. I smile back. Two years later and the memory of Bryce still lives in our minds, but we’ve found a way to live with it. It took a lot of time and therapy for us to get back to living even a remotely normal life, but we managed.
Bethy coming along has made things so much better for us. She brings light into our lives. She reminds us why we fought. She reminds us that there is happiness after darkness.
“Knock knock!”
We both turn to see Maggie and Peter coming in. Maggie has a freshly baked cake in her hands, which she promptly hands to Peter as she rushes forward, scooping our daughter out of Noah’s hands.
“How’s my little baby girl?” she croons.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. After we found Maggie and Peter’s daughter and they laid her to rest, we all became close. It seemed inevitable. Maggie is like my nan in so many ways, I wonder at times if she’s Nan’s way of making sure I’m okay. Maybe she’s Nan’s forgiveness. Maybe she’s my forgiveness. I’ve learned over time to free myself from guilt over Nan’s death, and instead learn from it and better myself. I also want to ensure I am the best version of myself for my daughter.
We named our daughter after Maggie’s daughter, which just felt right.
Having them in our lives just feels right.
“She’s been keeping her mama awake.” I smile, tucking myself into Noah’s side when he stands.
We both watch Maggie fussing over Bethy and I know his heart is swelling as big as mine. Peter comes over and croons to Bethy now, too. They look like doting grandparents. Their eyes are light. For these moments, their bodies aren’t tense with the pain of losing their own daughter.
Their daughter can never be replaced, but that hole in their hearts is slowly being filled with every passing second they spend with Bethy.
I said I wanted to give back to the world, and there were so many times I wondered how I’d do that.
Then Bethy was born and I knew exactly how I could do that.
Watching this couple who has lost so much with Bethy is like watching my nan with me.
A beautiful bond being re-created.
My way of giving back, of making the future better than the past.
Just the way it should be.