Under Thandeka’s care my liver had steadied within three months, the marks on my skin had faded, and the exhaustion that had shadowed me for years lifted like weather clearing.

Darius had spent those months remade — quiet, fierce, at every appointment, managing every medication, working with our lawyers until my grandfather’s trust was rebuilt to protect Esme and me from any hand reaching for it ever again.

He had been blinded by his mother for a long time, but the instant he saw the truth he chose his wife and his daughter, and he never once looked back, and slowly I let myself believe him.

The healing of my body was the easy part, in the end; bodies want to live, and mine, freed from what had been done to it, came back with a speed that startled the doctors.

The harder healing was the other kind — learning to live in a family again after learning what a family could hide.

For months I flinched at kindness, because kindness was the thing that had nearly killed me; a cup of tea, a helpful hand, a tender word had all been weapons in Ottoline’s hands, and my nervous system had learned the lesson too well.