Chapter 9 - THE OAK TREE AND THE MOONOne Year Later.
The sun was setting over the Connecticut coast, casting a warm golden hue over the lawn of the estate.
It wasn't the Whitaker estate. And it wasn't the Ashford estate.
We had sold both of them.
Instead, I sat on the porch of a beautiful, sprawling farmhouse we had bought together.
I looked down at the silver pin in my hand. The oak tree beneath a crescent moon.
My grandfather’s crest.
I pinned it to my lapel and walked down the porch steps.
In the yard, a massive garden had been planted. Hydrangeas, peonies, and hundreds of white roses.
Margaret Bell sat on a garden bench, happily instructing a landscape crew on exactly where to plant the new tulip bulbs. We had moved her in six months ago. She was family now. She would never have to work a day in her life again, though she insisted on managing the garden.
A few yards away, Lily was pushing a laughing toddler on a wooden swing.
The toddler was Victoria’s nephew.
Victoria and I hadn’t gotten back together romantically. Too much damage had been done. But she had broken away from her father’s toxic influence completely. She had started a non-profit using the money Lily and I had settled on her. We were navigating a new kind of friendship. A real one, built on truth instead of lies.
I walked over to the large oak tree in the center of the yard.
My mother was sitting on a blanket, reading a book.
She looked up and smiled as I approached. The lines of stress that had once etched her face were completely gone. She looked radiant. Peaceful.
“You’re wearing the pin,” she said softly.
“Felt appropriate for today,” I replied, sitting down next to her.
Today was the day my father and Charles Ashford were officially sentenced in federal court. Fraud, extortion, kidnapping. They would spend the rest of their natural lives in prison.
I had attended the sentencing this morning. I didn't say a word. I just watched them be led away.
“How do you feel?” my mother asked, studying my face.
I took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. I listened to Lily laughing with the toddler. I watched Margaret tending to her roses.
I looked at the woman who had fought through thirty years of hell just to hold her children again.
“I feel like I’m finally home,” I said.
May you like
My mother reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Me too, my sweet boy,” she whispered. “Me too.”
