He pushed it wider.
And the world stopped.
Talia Brooks lay flat on her back on the rug, her curls spread around her head, laughing quietly as though she were trying not to startle a dream.
And on top of her, leaning over her chest with both tiny hands pressed against Talia’s sweater, was Harper.
Harper.
Not still.
Not frozen.
Not trapped behind glass.
Moving.
Her knees pressed into the rug. Her small socked feet kicked clumsily. Her face was flushed with effort. Her hair had fallen across her forehead. Her mouth was open in the bright, breathless shape of laughter.
Real laughter.
Harper pushed herself up, wobbled, collapsed against Talia, then laughed again.
Talia caught her gently.
- “There she is,” Talia whispered. “There’s my brave girl.”
Harper made a sound.
Not a word.
Not quite.
But a sound filled with delight.
Elias gripped the doorframe.
His vision blurred.
For eighteen months he had prayed, begged, paid, threatened, researched, argued, and broken himself against the locked door of his daughter’s silence.
And now that door had opened on an ordinary afternoon with snow falling outside and a woman he had barely respected lying on the floor like it was the most natural thing in the world.
