"Can I—can I stay here? At Haven House?"
"Absolutely. That's what it's for. We have a room ready. Counseling starting tomorrow. Job training programs. Legal support. Everything you need to rebuild your life. You're safe now, Margaret. You're home."
Later, after the open house ends, after we've settled Margaret and two other women into their rooms, after we've talked with donors and volunteers and press, Vaughn and I drive back to our house in the mountains.
The spring evening is beautiful—the kind of perfect Montana sunset that still takes my breath away even after eighteen months.
Mountains painted in shades of purple and gold.
The sky is so vast it makes you feel small and infinite at the same time.
"You were incredible today," Vaughn says as he drives. "Watching you with Margaret—the way you understood exactly what she needed to hear. The way you made her feel safe. You were born for this, Eden."
"I don't know about born for it. But I survived it. And now I can help others survive it too. That feels—it feels likethe darkness wasn't for nothing. Like there was some sort of meaning behind it."
"Both things can be true. It was terrible and traumatic. And it gives you the ability to help others. The trauma doesn't become acceptable because something good came from it. But the good doesn't become less meaningful because it grew from trauma."
I smile at his use of our phrase. The one that's become our mantra. Our way of holding contradictions together.
"I love you," I say.
"I love you too."
We pull up to the house as the last light fades.
Home. Our home.
The place where we've built a life that's nothing like what either of us expected but everything we actually needed.
Inside, Callum has left dinner warming in the oven—he still lives in the guest house we built for him last fall, still helps with cooking and errands and running interference with the outside world.
Still loyal. Still family.
We eat on the porch, watching stars emerge one by one in the darkening sky, talking about the foundation and the women we're helping and the future we're building.
"We got a major donation today," Vaughn mentions between bites. "Anonymous. Half a million dollars designated for Haven House expansion. Enough to open a second location if we want."
"Really? Who would donate that much anonymously?"
"I have my suspicions. The wire transfer came from an offshore account. Very carefully hidden. But I recognize the structure—it's the kind of thing people use when they don't want their charitable donation getting traced back to them."
"You think it's someone from the Consortium?"
"Maybe. Or someone who knows about the Consortium and wants to help women escape that world. Either way—it's real money. Real support. We can do a lot with that."
The thought makes me smile.
Even if the Consortium still exists somewhere out there—and I'm sure it does—we're building something that helps women escape that world.
Building light from the darkness they create.
Both things are true. Evil exists. And we're fighting it.
After dinner, we clean up together.
I'm washing dishes when Vaughn's arms come around me from behind.
His mouth finds my neck, just below my ear. "I want to ask you something," he murmurs against my skin.
