Chapter 10 - The Restoration
Spring returned to Chicago, washing away the bitter chill of the winter.
I sat on the veranda of the estate, sipping black coffee. The white mourning wreath was long gone, replaced by vibrant blooming hydrangeas. The iron gates were open, welcoming the morning sun.
Behind me, the patio doors slid open.
My grandfather walked out, leaning heavily on a polished wooden cane, but walking under his own power. He looked robust, his cheeks flushed with life, wearing a crisp flannel shirt.
"Morning, Captain," he smiled, sitting in the wrought-iron chair next to me.
"Morning, Grandpa," I replied, pouring him a cup of coffee.
The estate felt alive again. Thomas was directing the landscaping crew, and Maria was humming in the kitchen, baking her famous cinnamon rolls. We had reburied my father with full military honors, the way he deserved, in a pristine section of the cemetery overlooking the lake.
The trust was secure. Cynthia was in a maximum-security facility, and Trevor was serving ten years in a minimum-security prison—a fitting place for a coward.
Grandpa reached over and placed his warm, weathered hand over mine.
"He would be proud of you, Sarah," he said quietly, looking out over the rolling green lawns. "You fought the hardest battle, and you brought peace back to this house."
May you like
I squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath of the fresh spring air. I had spent years fighting wars on foreign soil, believing my duty was oceans away. But the most important war I ever fought was right here in my own home.
And finally, the war was won.
