Forgiveness, Trust & Forever

Hero

Emily typed her name like it was a weapon.
Emily Dean.
Two words.
Black letters on a white screen.
Her thumb hovered beneath them, steady in a way the rest of her wasn't. Eleanora slept against her chest, one cheek pressed into Emily's jumper, one little hand curled in the fabric like she had decided her mother was not allowed to go anywhere.
I sat beside them, close enough that my arm brushed Emily's every time she breathed.
Neither of us moved away.
The police were in the nursery.
The nursery.
The room Emily had built and buried. The room my daughter had slept in for the first time only hours ago. The room where a camera had been hidden behind a bookshelf while Emily sat inside it, pregnant and terrified and alone with the name Boo in her mouth.
A camera.
I couldn't think about it for too long.
Every time I did, something red moved behind my eyes.
Not anger.
Worse.
Rage with nowhere safe to go.
Emily must have felt it coming off me because she stopped typing and glanced sideways.
"Don't."
"I didn't say anything."
"You're doing the murder breathing."
Titan's voice came through my phone. "He gets that from Dad."
Mum made a sound from Emily's phone. "He does not."
Titan snorted. "Mum, Dad once threatened a man with garden shears because he parked across the drive."
"He had been asked nicely twice."
Emily's mouth twitched.
Just slightly.
God, I loved my family for that moment.
Not because they were helping.
Because they were ridiculous enough to keep the room from collapsing.
Jen cut in, dry as ever. "I'm thrilled the Tiffin family is processing felony-level surveillance through garden tool anecdotes, but Emily is writing."
"Sorry," Mum said immediately.
Titan said nothing.
Because Titan was never sorry.
Emily looked back at the screen.
Her thumb moved.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
I watched the words appear because she had angled the phone between us.
Not hiding.
Not performing.
Letting me witness.
I am writing this as Eleanora's mother.
My chest stopped working.
Emily froze as soon as she typed it.
Her thumb lifted off the screen.
The words sat there.
Simple.
Impossible.
I didn't breathe.
If I breathed, she might delete them.
If I looked too emotional, she might delete them.
If I said anything at all, she would absolutely delete them just to punish me for existing with feelings.
So I looked down at Eleanora instead.
Our daughter slept on, unaware that the woman holding her had just rewritten the universe in six words.
Emily inhaled shakily.
Then continued.
I am not writing this to entertain strangers, defend rumours, or add detail to a story that should never have been public. I am writing this because my daughter is one year old, and several adults have forgotten that a child is not publicity, leverage, punishment, or proof.
Jen made a low sound through the phone.
Approval.
Maybe.
Legal approval sounded like a growl with better billing.
Emily kept typing.
I will not discuss court proceedings. I will not discuss my medical history. I will not discuss private family grief. I will not provide my daughter's full name, image, location, or any information that would allow people to identify or approach her.
Her thumb paused.
She looked down at Eleanora.
The baby's lips parted slightly in sleep.
Emily's face changed.
Softened.
Hurt.
Then hardened again.
What I will say is this: no headline, contract, film promotion, romantic narrative, personal grievance, or old relationship gives anyone the right to endanger a child.
I closed my eyes.
The burn behind them was immediate.
I turned my face away before anyone saw.
Too late.
Mum's voice came quietly through the phone.
"Oh, sweetheart."
I didn't know if she meant Emily.
Or me.
Or all of us.
Emily kept going.
Hero Fiennes Tiffin is my daughter's father. He has protected her privacy at cost to himself, and I support that. Any suggestion that he should participate in a public appearance with someone involved in exposing our child is unacceptable.
My eyes opened.
Emily didn't look at me.
Her cheeks were flushed.
Her jaw set.
Our child.
She had typed it.
Not said it accidentally.
Typed it.
Chosen it.
Made it evidence.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Jen cleared her throat. "Emily, that sentence is strong. Keep going, but don't name Jo."
"I didn't."
"You implied."
"She deserves worse than implication."
"She does. I still prefer implication."
Emily muttered something under her breath.
Eleanora stirred.
Emily immediately went still, one hand coming off the phone to cup the back of her daughter's head.
"Sorry," she whispered. "Sorry, Boo."
The room went silent again.
Boo.
Still there.
Still hers.
Still alive in daylight after Ava had tried to poison it.
Eleanora settled.
Emily resumed typing one-handed.
To anyone who has photographs, messages, private documents, or footage relating to my daughter or my home: preserve them for police and legal review. Do not publish them. Do not share them. Do not contact me for comment.
Jen said, "Excellent."
Titan said, "Too polite."
Jen said, "That's why I'm in charge."
Titan huffed.
Emily's mouth twitched again, but she didn't stop.
To anyone outside Clara-Bellas, outside any family home, or following any person connected to this situation: leave. There is a national lockdown. There is also a baby inside this story, whether or not you can see her.
I looked at the muted television.
Stay at home.
Protect lives.
Save the NHS.
The banner scrolled beneath footage of empty Winchester streets.
A world holding its breath, and still some people had found time to press cameras against my daughter's life.
Emily took a shaky breath.
Then typed the last line.
I will not let fear, shame, or other people's versions of me decide what kind of mother I become from this moment on.
Her thumb stopped.
The room went very still.
Even Eleanora seemed quieter.
Emily stared at the sentence.
I stared at Emily.
She was not crying.
Not yet.
Her face had that terrifying blankness people mistook for control when really it meant the body had paused until the mind could catch up.
Jen spoke first.
"Send it to me."
Emily didn't move.
"Emily."
"I sound dramatic."
"You sound like a woman whose child was exposed, whose home was invaded, whose nursery had a camera hidden in it, and who is still more legally restrained than I would be in your position."
Titan said, "Same."
Mum said, "Titan."
"What? I'd have named everyone and included addresses."
Jen sighed. "This is why you are not legal counsel."
Emily let out a breath that might have been a laugh.
Then she sent it.
The whoosh sound felt absurdly small for something that had taken so much out of her.
Done.
Gone.
Private for now.
But real.
She lowered the phone to her lap.
Her hand started shaking immediately.
I reached over without thinking, then stopped halfway.
Asking.
Always asking now.
She looked at my hand.
Then placed hers in it.
Cold.
Trembling.
There.
I closed my fingers carefully around hers.
No squeeze that might feel like pressure.
No thumb over skin that might become something else.
Just holding.
Eleanora slept between us, her small body rising and falling against Emily's chest.
"You wrote mother," I said quietly.
Emily closed her eyes.
"I know."
"You wrote our child."
"I know."
"I'm not making it a thing."
"You're absolutely making it a thing."
"Internally."
"Catastrophically?"
"Biblically."
A laugh cracked out of her.
Wet.
Exhausted.
Real.
Then it became a sob.
She turned her face away instantly, like crying now was somehow more shameful than every other time she'd cried in the past twenty-four hours.
I shifted closer.
Not taking her.
Not trapping her.
Just there.
Emily bent slightly over Eleanora, as if her body had decided the baby was a shield and an anchor and a reason not to shatter all at once.
"I wrote it," she whispered.
"Yes."
"What if I can't do it?"
I knew what she meant.
Mother.
Become.
Stay.
Love in a way that didn't vanish when fear got loud.
I looked down at our daughter.
Then back at Emily.
"Then you start again."
She shook her head.
"That's not fair to her."
"No."
Her breath hitched.
"But it's true."
Emily looked at me then.
Her eyes were red.
Furious.
Terrified.
Grateful, maybe.
I didn't deserve grateful, so I didn't look for it too closely.
"I don't want pretty lies," she said.
"I know."
"She deserves better than starts and trying and ten minutes."
"Yes."
I swallowed.
"But ten minutes is what we can give her right now. Then another. Then another. That's how I did it."
Her face shifted.
Not shock.
Understanding.
"You were scared too."
The words were not a question.
I looked away.
For a second, I was back in my parents' house, Eleanora screaming so hard her tiny body went red, my mother asleep upstairs for the first time in two days, me pacing the living room while the entire world outside thought I was on top of my life because I had custody.
Custody.
As if a court order taught you how to warm milk at three in the morning with one hand while crying into a muslin.
"Yes," I said.
Emily watched me.
"I didn't know."
"I didn't want you to."
"Why?"
I laughed once.
Quiet.
Bitter.
"Because I was angry at you. And because if you knew I was scared, then maybe you'd think I couldn't do it either."
Emily's throat moved.
"I wouldn't have."
"No?"
She looked down at Eleanora.
"No," she said. "I would have hated that you got to be scared and still keep her."
The honesty landed hard.
Fair.
Ugly.
Real.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
Her fingers shifted in mine.
"I'm sorry."
I looked at her.
"For that?"
"For all of it." Her voice cracked. "For the birth certificate. For court. For making you do the nights alone. For letting you be scared alone. For hating you because you were better at surviving it than I was."
I stared at her.
For months, I had imagined apologies from Emily.
Angry ones.
Broken ones.
Courtroom ones.
Letters.
Texts.
Dramatic speeches where she finally admitted the shape of what she had done and I finally felt clean of it.
None of those fantasies had prepared me for this.
Her sitting on the sofa in a jumper stained with baby tears, our daughter asleep on her chest, apologising so quietly the world outside could not steal it.
I couldn't speak.
Emily's face tightened.
"Say something."
"I don't know what to say."
"That's new."
A laugh caught in my throat and hurt my ribs.
I pressed my free hand to my side.
She noticed immediately.
"You need ice."
"I need you to not apologise while I'm unprepared."
"That's your problem."
"It usually is."
Her mouth twitched.
Then the room shifted as footsteps approached from the hallway.
The female officer appeared at the living room doorway.
Emily's hand tightened in mine.
The officer's expression was carefully neutral.
"We've removed the device. It will be processed. We've also found adhesive residue on the underside of the bookshelf and a small scuff pattern on the skirting near the socket. It may have been placed during a previous access rather than today."
Emily's fingers went numb in my hand.
"Previous," she repeated.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"We can't say yet."
"Was it recording me?"
The officer paused.
Too long.
Emily's face changed.
"Was it recording me?" she asked again.
"We don't know yet."
That meant maybe.
That meant yes in every way that mattered until proven otherwise.
Emily looked down at Eleanora.
Her body went completely still.
I felt the shift before I saw it.
Not collapse.
Withdrawal.
The officer continued gently, "We will need to ask questions about who had access to the room and when. You don't have to answer now."
Emily nodded.
Too quickly.
Too blankly.
"Ms Dean?"
"I heard you."
Her voice didn't sound like hers.
The officer glanced at me.
I hated that glance.
The poor bastard probably couldn't help it, but I hated it anyway.
Emily noticed.
Of course she did.
Her head lifted.
"Don't look at him."
The officer blinked.
Emily's voice was quiet but sharp enough to cut.
"If you're asking me questions about my home, look at me."
The officer corrected instantly.
"My apologies."
Emily nodded once.
Eleanora slept on.
My heart hammered.
There she was.
Still in the room.
Still fighting.
The officer said, "We'll keep the nursery closed until forensic officers finish. There may be a delay due to current restrictions, but given the child involvement, it's being prioritised."
"Fine."
"There's also the rear access. The door near the studio fire exit shows signs of previous tampering. It had not been forced today, but it may have been compromised."
I swore under my breath.
Emily didn't react.
That scared me.
She was too still.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"It means someone may have been able to enter downstairs without leaving obvious signs. We recommend locks and codes changed immediately, and a full security sweep."
"I'll arrange it."
"We can provide a crime reference number for your locksmith and insurer."
"Fine."
Fine.
Fine was becoming dangerous.
The officer hesitated.
"One more thing. Ms Dean, your sister has surrendered her phone voluntarily. Ms Langford has done the same."
"Jo," Emily said.
The officer paused.
"Yes. Josephine Langford."
Emily's mouth tightened.
"Use her name."
The officer nodded.
"Josephine Langford is providing a statement. She maintains she has never entered the property."
"She hasn't," Emily said.
The speed of the answer surprised all of us.
Even her.
She looked down at Eleanora, then back up.
"She hasn't been inside. Ava has. Once. Years ago. Downstairs. Titan removed her before she could get into the flat properly. But Jo has never been here."
The officer wrote it down.
"Thank you."
Emily's grip on my hand tightened.
"She still hurt my daughter."
"Yes," the officer said.
Not legal language.
Not neutral.
Just yes.
For some reason, that made Emily blink hard.
The officer left.
The room exhaled around us.
Jen's voice came from the phone.
"I have the draft."
Emily didn't answer.
"Emily?"
"I'm here."
"I'm making small changes. Mostly legal. I'm keeping the spine."
Emily nodded even though Jen couldn't see.
"Okay."
"The studio is not getting a joint note. Anna is already informing them that Hero is unavailable due to a police matter, medical advice, and child safeguarding concerns."
Hero's mum made a satisfied noise.
"Good."
Titan said, "And if they send anyone to the gate, I'll-"
"Not get arrested," Jen said.
"Fine."
Emily's hand slipped out of mine.
For one awful second, I thought she was pulling away.
Then she adjusted Eleanora against her and stood.
Carefully.
Slowly.
Our daughter stirred but didn't wake.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
Emily looked towards the hallway.
Not the nursery.
The bedroom.
"She needs somewhere to sleep that isn't the crime scene cot."
The words were blunt.
Too blunt.
But true.
"The travel cot," I said.
She nodded.
"I'll set it up in the living room."
"You don't have to-"
"I know."
She looked at me then.
Really looked.
"And I know you can do it faster. And better. And without wanting to scream. But I need to."
My throat tightened.
"Okay."
She pointed at me.
"Not that okay."
I tried to soften my face into something less ruinous.
"Yes, Emily."
"Better."
She moved towards the bedroom.
I started to stand.
She turned so fast I froze.
"Sit."
"I can help."
"You can breathe painfully and make me feel watched."
"I always make you feel watched."
The words were out before I could stop them.
The room went cold.
Because watched meant something else now.
Not romantic.
Not intimate.
Not old arguments about me knowing her too well.
Watched meant a camera behind a bookshelf.
Emily's face drained.
"Em," I said immediately. "I didn't-"
"I know."
But her voice had changed.
The flinch had already happened.
I hated myself.
"I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes.
Eleanora shifted in her arms.
Emily opened them again, focused on our daughter, and breathed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then she looked at me.
"It's going to be like that for a while."
I nodded.
"Words meaning different things."
"I know."
"You'll say something normal and I'll hear something disgusting."
"I know."
"You'll get frustrated."
"No."
"Yes, you will."
I wanted to argue.
I didn't.
She was right.
Eventually, I would get tired. Hurt. Clumsy. I would say the wrong thing because people did. Love did not make language safe.
"I'll try not to make it your problem," I said.
Emily looked at me for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"That's the first sensible thing you've said all morning."
Titan snorted.
I glared at the phone.
Emily disappeared into the bedroom.
I heard her moving carefully.
Travel cot folded.
A muttered curse.
Another muttered curse.
Then, louder, "Why is baby equipment designed by people who hate parents?"
Despite everything, I smiled.
"Do you want-"
"No!"
I sat back.
Mum laughed softly through the phone.
"Oh, I remember that stage."
"What stage?" I asked.
"The one where letting someone struggle is kinder than rescuing them."
I looked towards the bedroom.
Emily cursed again.
Something clanged.
Eleanora made a sleepy protest.
Emily whispered, "Sorry, Boo. The cot is being emotionally difficult."
My chest hurt.
Not from ribs.
From everything.
A few minutes later, Emily returned dragging the folded travel cot one-handed with Eleanora still against her chest.
"That looks unsafe," I said.
"It is."
"May I?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"You may unfold the devil cot. I will supervise."
Titan said, "Excellent delegation."
Emily ignored him.
I got up slowly, regretted it immediately, and unfolded the travel cot in the corner of the living room near the sofa. It took longer than usual because my ribs were arguing with each movement and because Emily kept giving commentary.
"That side isn't locked."
"It is."
"It doesn't sound locked."
"It clicked."
"That was your rib."
"Helpful."
"Don't die into the cot."
"Wasn't planning to."
By the time it was set up, I was sweating.
Emily noticed.
Of course.
Her expression softened.
Then hardened deliberately, because tenderness was still too dangerous in direct light.
"Sit before you embarrass yourself."
I sat.
Gladly.
She placed Eleanora into the travel cot with exquisite care, like lowering her into it was an exam no one had told her how to revise for.
Our daughter stirred.
Emily froze.
Eleanora sighed, turned her face into the sheet, and settled.
Emily stayed bent over her for another three seconds.
Four.
Five.
Then she straightened.
She looked stunned.
"She didn't wake."
"No."
"I did it right?"
"Yes."
Her eyes flicked to me.
"Don't overdo it."
"I said one word."
"Your face is doing paragraphs."
I pressed my lips together.
Titan said, "He gets that from Mum."
Mum said, "Titan, I will hang up on you."
"No, you won't."
"No, I won't."
Emily sat on the sofa beside the travel cot.
Not too close to me.
Not far either.
A measured distance.
A survivable one.
Her phone buzzed.
We both flinched.
Jen said, "That's me. I sent the edited draft."
Emily picked it up.
Her eyes moved over the screen.
I watched her face.
Not the words this time.
Her.
The way her brows drew together at a change.
The way her lips pressed at a cut.
The way her hand trembled once when she reached the mother sentence and then steadied.
"Read it aloud," Jen said.
Emily shook her head.
"No."
"Emily."
"No." Her voice was firm. "Not with everyone listening."
Jen softened. "Okay. Send approval by text."
Emily looked at me.
I held up both hands.
"Your choice."
She stared at the draft.
Then typed one word.
Approved.
She sent it.
Jen exhaled.
"Good. This remains private for now. I will use it as the basis for legal correspondence. If anything must go public, you approve it first."
"Thank you."
"I'm not being nice. I'm being competent."
"I know."
"You're welcome."
Emily almost smiled.
Then the muted television shifted.
A new breaking banner appeared.
I saw my own face before I understood what I was looking at.
A still from the video statement.
My face.
My words.
My daughter's privacy.
Emily's hand flew to the remote and turned the volume up before I could tell her not to.
The presenter's voice filled the living room.
"...after actor Hero Fiennes Tiffin issued an emotional statement last night asking for privacy for his young daughter. Representatives for the studio have not yet commented on reports of tension surrounding the promotional campaign, but sources close to production say-"
Emily muted it again.
Too late.
Sources close to production.
My director.
The studio.
Someone trying to leak around Jen before Jen could close her fist.
Emily stared at the screen.
My face stared back from it.
I looked younger in the still.
Frightened.
Furious.
A father begging strangers not to look for his child.
Emily's voice was quiet.
"You said young daughter."
I looked at her.
"In the video."
"Yes."
"You didn't say her name."
"No."
"You didn't say mine either."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because they didn't deserve either."
Her eyes stayed on the screen.
The presenter had moved on to a photo of Jo on a carpet beside me. Old. Carefully chosen. Cropped close enough to imply intimacy.
Emily's jaw tightened.
I reached for the remote.
She stopped me.
"No."
"Don't watch this."
"I need to see what they're doing."
"You don't."
"I do."
Jen's voice came sharp through the phone. "Emily, no. Hero, turn it off."
Emily grabbed the remote.
"Do not both of you parent me."
Eleanora stirred in the travel cot.
Emily froze.
Everyone froze.
Our daughter settled.
Emily looked at the cot.
Then at the screen.
Then slowly lowered the remote.
She turned the television off.
Not because we told her.
Because Eleanora had moved.
That distinction mattered.
She sat back.
Her face looked older suddenly.
Not in years.
In understanding.
"They'll keep doing it," she whispered.
I nodded.
"Yes."
"Finding pictures. Cropping things. Making stories."
"Yes."
"Even after police."
"Yes."
"Even after Jen."
"Probably."
Her eyes moved to Eleanora.
"So we make her world smaller."
My chest tightened.
"For now."
"No." Emily looked at me. "Not smaller like hiding. Smaller like safer. People she knows. Rooms checked. Phones muted. Curtains closed when they need to be. No one at the gate unless police clear them. No studio people. No Jo. No Mimi inside yet."
I nodded slowly.
"And Ava?" I asked.
Emily's face hardened.
"Ava doesn't get a door."
Titan said, "Finally, a family policy I support."
Jen sighed. "I also support it, though less theatrically."
Mum's voice was quiet. "We all do."
Emily looked overwhelmed for a second by the agreement.
Like she had expected someone to tell her she was being cruel.
No one did.
Not even me.
Especially not me.
Another knock came.
Not buzzer.
Knock.
On the flat door.
Three controlled taps.
Emily's body went rigid.
I stood.
Too fast.
Pain punched through my ribs so hard my vision spotted.
"Hero," Mum snapped through the phone.
"I'm fine," I said automatically.
Everyone shouted at once.
"Banned sentence," Emily said.
"Idiot," Titan said.
"Sit down," Mum said.
"God help me," Jen said.
The officer's voice came from the hallway.
"Mr Tiffin? Ms Dean? It's Officer Grant. We have someone here requesting to speak with you. He has identification."
Emily's eyes met mine.
No.
Not another person.
Not another ghost.
Not another betrayal.
I moved to the door despite the chorus of protests from every device in the room.
I checked the chain.
Looked through the viewer.
Officer Grant stood there.
Beside him was a man in a dark coat, mask lowered enough for me to see his face.
Not press.
Not studio.
Not family.
A courier, maybe.
No.
He lifted a badge.
Not police.
Private security.
I opened the door as far as the chain allowed.
Officer Grant nodded.
"This is Mr Clarke. He says he was sent by Anna Todd."
Anna.
The man held up an envelope in a gloved hand.
"Mr Tiffin. Ms Dean. I'm with the security firm Ms Todd contacted. I was told to bring this personally and begin an exterior assessment if police allowed it."
Emily appeared behind me with Eleanora's monitor in hand, though Eleanora was right there in the travel cot.
"What is it?"
The man looked at her.
Then at me.
"A list of known breaches from Ms Reynolds and Ms Harding. Also emergency replacement recommendations for your locks, intercom, cameras, and rear access. We can begin today under emergency safeguarding."
Jen's voice came through Emily's phone from the sofa.
"That's authorised. I arranged payment hold ten minutes ago."
Emily blinked.
"You did what?"
Jen replied, "Competence. We discussed this."
Titan said, "I'll still come."
"No," everyone said again.
The security man held out the envelope.
I took it through the gap.
Officer Grant said, "We'll stay with him while he checks the exterior. Nothing changes without your consent."
Emily nodded.
"Thank you."
I closed the door and locked it again.
Envelope in hand.
For the first time all morning, something practical existed.
Locks.
Cameras.
Codes.
Doors.
Things we could fix with tools and money and people who knew what they were doing.
Not enough.
But something.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a printed sheet, Anna's handwriting across the top.
No one gets near them again. Start here. - A
Below it was a list.
Names.
Numbers.
Security steps.
Police reference placeholders.
Then, at the bottom, one handwritten line.
Also, Hero, go to hospital or I'll leak your childhood bowl cut.
Emily read over my shoulder.
Then burst out laughing.
Loud.
Sudden.
Uncontrollable.
She slapped a hand over her mouth and looked at the travel cot.
Eleanora slept.
Still.
Emily's laugh turned silent, shoulders shaking.
I stared at her.
Bruised, exhausted, furious, holding an envelope full of emergency security measures, while the woman I loved laughed in the middle of a nightmare because Anna had threatened my childhood hair.
God, I loved her.
It must have shown.
Because Emily stopped laughing slowly.
Her eyes met mine.
The room narrowed.
Just for a second.
Then she looked away.
"Did you have a bowl cut?"
Titan answered from the phone before I could.
"He did. It was catastrophic."
"I hate all of you," I said.
Mum sighed. "It was a difficult year."
Emily pressed her lips together, fighting another laugh.
I would have let Ava burn every old photo in the world if it meant Emily kept that look for five more seconds.
Then Eleanora made a sleepy sound from the cot.
Emily moved first.
Not rushed.
Not panicked.
Just first.
She crouched beside the travel cot and looked in.
"Still asleep," she whispered.
I stood behind her.
Careful.
Quiet.
Emily reached down and placed one finger near Eleanora's hand.
Our daughter's fingers curled around it in sleep.
Emily didn't look back.
Her voice was barely audible.
"Smaller and safer."
"Yes."
"For now."
"Yes."
"And then bigger."
"When she's ready."
Emily swallowed.
"When I'm ready."
I looked at her.
"That too."
She nodded.
Outside, footsteps moved along the external staircase. Police. Security. The building being checked, measured, reclaimed one lock at a time.
Inside, Eleanora slept in the living room because her nursery was evidence.
Emily kept her finger in our daughter's hand.
I stood behind them, bruised and useless and more certain than I had ever been of anything.
Ava had found the old doors.
Jo had opened the public one.
Mimi had handed over a key she hadn't understood she held.
But Emily was building new locks now.
And this time, she was not shutting herself out.