Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE ON THE HILL
Six months later.
May in Illinois was soft, green, and smelling of blossoming apple trees and wet river earth.
I stood on the wide wooden back porch of our new house—a historic four-acre property sitting on a gentle hill overlooking the Fox River valley, twenty miles west of the city.
The house was built of solid limestone and red cedar, with wide wrap-around porches, tall windows that let the sunlight flood every room, and an old timber barn near the pasture that Mateo was converting into his private structural design studio.
We had sold our old suburban home three months ago—the house where the shower had taken place—because neither of us wanted Leo to take his first steps on floors that held memories of blood and scalded milk.
Using the legitimate, fully verified funds from Julian Vance’s tech equity inheritance, we had paid off every debt we owed, bought this land cash, and established a three-million-dollar educational trust for our son.
Behind me, the screen door creaked open.
Mateo walked out onto the porch carrying two mugs of hot coffee. He wore a simple flannel shirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his face tan and relaxed, the dark circles that had haunted his eyes for months completely gone.
"How’s the little boss?" I asked, taking a mug from his hand and leaning back against his chest as he wrapped his free arm around my waist.
"Sleeping like a rock," Mateo chuckled, kissing the top of my head. "Clara just put him down in his crib. He drank five ounces of milk and went straight out."
I looked out across the green pasture where three old oak trees stood tall against the afternoon sky.
The legal storm had finally settled.
Two weeks ago, Valyria and Arturo had accepted a formal plea agreement to avoid a public jury trial that would have carried a potential thirty-year sentence.
Valyria was sentenced to fourteen years at the Dwight Correctional Center for Aggravated Battery and Financial Fraud.
Arturo received eight years for wire fraud and tax evasion.
Camila, who had agreed to testify against her parents, received three years probation and two thousand hours of mandatory community service, her legal career and reputation completely destroyed.
Vanguard Luxe Realty was liquidated to the last desk, the proceeds absorbed by Vane Financial Group to satisfy their outstanding corporate debts.
My parents had wanted three million dollars to save their fake empire.
In the end, they lost their business, their freedom, their home, and their daughter.
"What are you thinking about?" Mateo asked softly, his cheek resting against my hair.
"I was thinking about that catering tray," I admitted, a quiet, peaceful smile touching my lips. "That cheap, silver-plated tray from the shower."
"Where is it?" Mateo asked.
"In a frame inside my study," I said. "Polished, straightened, and mounted on the wall right above my desk."
Mateo laughed gently, squeezing my shoulder. "A reminder?"
"No," I said, turning my head to look into his warm brown eyes—the eyes of the man who had broken through glass to save me, the man who had built this life with me brick by brick. "A trophy."
May you like
From inside the house, a sweet, high-pitched baby laugh drifted through the screen door. Leo was awake, kicking his little feet against his mattress, making those happy, bubbling noises that filled every corner of our new home with light.
I set my coffee mug down on the wooden porch railing, took my husband’s hand, and walked inside to our son.
