Dylan’s parents arrived carrying food, cleaning supplies, and a potted lemon tree.
His mother placed the tree near the brightest window.
“Every home needs something that grows,” she said.
Harper looked around the room at the people who had come without being paid, persuaded, or rescued.
Her phone buzzed once.
It was a message from Vivian.
The court-approved communication restrictions allowed contact only about repayment logistics, but Vivian had added one personal sentence beneath the payment confirmation.
“I hope one day you understand that I did what I thought was best for the family.”
Harper read it twice.
Then she typed a reply.
“I understand that you chose what was best for the family you valued.
I am choosing what is best for mine.”
She sent the message and blocked the number again.
Outside, Dylan was arguing cheerfully with his father about where to place a bookshelf.
His mother was watering the lemon tree even though the soil was already damp.
