Chapter 8 - SUNRISE IN ALBUQUERQUE
Six months later.
The aroma of roasting garlic and fresh rosemary filled my apartment. I was wearing a bright, floral blouse—a stark contrast to the drab lavender sweater I had clung to in San Diego. The dining table was set for six.
The doorbell rang, and I hurried to open it. Elias stood there, holding a bottle of expensive red wine, accompanied by Sarah and her husband. Two other neighbors I had befriended in my building were already in the living room, laughing and sharing stories.
"Marissa, something smells heavenly," Elias said, kissing my cheek.
"Roast lamb," I grinned. "And this time, there is plenty of room at the table."
My life had transformed. With the settlement money slowly being recovered from the sale of Carter's estate, I had renovated the apartment. I joined a local botanical society and started volunteering at a library. I had friends. I had a community. I had my mind, my health, and my freedom.
Carter was facing three years of probation and thousands of hours of community service, living in a cramped studio apartment, working a miserable desk job to pay off his debts. Karla had divorced him, though she wasn't faring much better. I occasionally received letters from Bowen and Monica. I wrote them back, sending small gifts, ensuring they knew their grandmother loved them, even if she had to love them from afar. I would not punish the children for the sins of the father.
Later that evening, as my guests raised their glasses in a toast, Elias looked at me across the table.
"To Marissa," he said warmly. "A woman who refused to be erased."
May you like
"To Marissa!" the table echoed.
I took a sip of the wine, letting the rich flavor wash over my tongue. I looked at the photograph of Thomas on the mantle. He was smiling. And for the first time in a long time, so was I. The invisible matriarch had finally stepped into the light, and the view was absolutely beautiful.
