Chapter 5: Growing Roots

Two weeks later, I made the decision that would change everything. I enrolled Emma in Riverside Elementary.

The morning we walked into the school office, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the paperwork. I'd managed to get copies of Emma's birth certificate and medical records, thanks to Jake's help with navigating the system safely. He'd assured me there were ways to do it without leaving obvious trails, and so far, his promise had held true.

"Mrs. Harper?" The secretary, a cheerful woman named Carol, smiled at us from behind her desk. "You must be Emma. We've been so excited to meet you."

Emma pressed closer to my leg, suddenly shy. Starting new schools had become routine for us, but this felt different. This felt permanent, and that was both wonderful and terrifying.

"Is Miss Susan here?" Emma asked in a small voice.

"She's setting up your classroom right now. Would you like to go see it?"

Twenty minutes later, we stood in the doorway of a bright, colorful classroom filled with reading corners and art supplies and everything a child could want in a learning space. Susan Mitchell was arranging books on a shelf, and when she saw us, her face lit up.

"Emma! Welcome to second grade!"

I watched my daughter's anxiety melt away as Susan showed her around the classroom, introduced her to the class pet—a hamster named Biscuit—and let her pick out her own desk. For the first time in her life, Emma was going to have consistency, routine, the chance to make real friends.

"She's going to do beautifully here," Susan said to me as Emma explored the reading corner. "I can tell she's bright, and she has such a sweet spirit."

"She's been through a lot," I said quietly. "She might need extra patience while she adjusts."

"We're used to helping children find their footing. Don't worry—we'll take good care of her."

That afternoon, after Emma's first day, I was walking her home from school when Jake's patrol car pulled up beside us.

"How was school, kiddo?" he asked through the open window.

"Amazing!" Emma bounced on her toes. "Miss Susan let me feed Biscuit, and I made friends with a girl named Maria, and we're going to read Charlotte's Web next week!"

"That's fantastic. What about you, Mom? How are you holding up?"

I looked down at Emma, who was chattering excitedly about her day, and felt something loosen in my chest. "Good. Really good."

"Want a ride to the diner? I'm heading that way anyway."

We climbed into the patrol car, Emma insisting on sitting in the front seat so she could see all the police equipment. Jake patiently answered her questions about the radio and the computer, explaining what each button did.

"Have you ever arrested a bad guy?" Emma asked.

"A few times. But mostly my job is helping people and keeping everyone safe."

"Like keeping me and Mama safe?"

Jake's eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. "Exactly like that."

At the diner, Betty Ann had Emma's after-school snack ready—chocolate milk and cookies she'd baked that morning. Emma settled at the counter with her coloring books while I started my shift.

"She looks happy," Betty Ann observed, watching Emma hum while she colored.

"She is. We both are."

"Good. You deserve some happiness, honey."

The afternoon rush kept me busy, but I found myself smiling more than I had in years. Every time I looked at Emma, contentedly coloring at the counter, I felt like we might actually be building something real here.

Around five o'clock, Jake came back in, officially off duty this time.

"Coffee?" I asked.

"Actually, I was wondering if you two might want to have dinner at my place tonight. Nothing fancy—just grilled cheese and tomato soup. But I thought Emma might like to see my backyard. I've got a swing set the previous owners left behind."

Emma's head popped up from her coloring. "A swing set? Really?"

"Really. And my neighbor's cat likes to visit sometimes. Her name is Patches."

"Can we, Mama? Please?"

I hesitated. Going to Jake's house felt like another line I wasn't sure I was ready to cross. But Emma was looking at me with such hope, and I was tired of letting fear make all our decisions.

"Okay," I said. "But we can't stay too late. School night."

Jake's house was a modest two-story on Oak Street, with a front porch that looked perfect for sitting with morning coffee. The backyard was bigger than I'd expected, with an old oak tree and yes, a wooden swing set that had seen better days but looked sturdy enough.

"The previous owner had grandkids who visited," Jake explained as Emma ran straight for the swings. "I kept meaning to take it down, but now I'm glad I didn't."

We sat on the back steps, watching Emma swing and laugh, chasing fireflies as the sun started to set. It was the most normal evening I'd had in years.

"This is nice," I said quietly.

"Yeah, it is." Jake was quiet for a moment. "Lisa, can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"When I left town fifteen years ago, I thought I was being brave. Thought I was going out to conquer the world and come back a better man. But watching you these past few weeks, seeing how you've protected Emma and rebuilt your life from nothing... that's real courage. What I did was just running away."

"We all do what we think is right at the time."

"Maybe. But I want you to know—I see how strong you are. Even when you don't feel strong, even when you're scared, you keep fighting for Emma and for yourself. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen."

His words made my throat tight. I'd spent so long thinking of myself as weak, as a victim who couldn't even protect herself from her own husband. But maybe Jake was right. Maybe survival was its own kind of strength.

"Mama, come push me!" Emma called from the swing.

I got up and gave her a push, sending her soaring higher. Her laughter filled the backyard, pure and joyful and free.

"Higher, Mama!"

As I pushed my daughter on the swing in Jake Miller's backyard, with the smell of honeysuckle in the air and the promise of another peaceful day ahead, I thought maybe we really could have this. Maybe we really could have a home.

For the first time in three years, I let myself believe in forever.