Chapter 9 - Rebuilding
A year after the sentencing.
Seattle was bathed in the warm, golden light of early June.
I sat on the wide outdoor terrace of a small, beautiful bakery near the waterfront, holding a warm cup of coffee, looking out at the blue waters of Puget Sound.
My lungs had completely healed. The dark marks on my neck were gone.
I was twenty-five now, working as a junior graphic designer for a sustainable outdoor gear company in Seattle—a job I loved, surrounded by creative, kind, supportive people who treated work like a passion, not an endurance test.
Beside me sat Ethan and his girlfriend, Maya, a warm, funny pediatric nurse he had met six months ago.
Ethan had started his own wood-crafting business, building custom dining tables and furniture from reclaimed Pacific Northwest timber. His workshop was thriving, filled with the sweet scent of cedar, sawdust, and freedom.
Aunt Sarah joined us at the table, setting down a plate of fresh berry tarts.
“Look at us,” Sarah smiled, looking around the table at the three of us. “Eating pastries in the sun like normal people.”
Ethan laughed—a real, booming, genuine laugh that came straight from his stomach.
“Not bad for a bunch of survivors,” Ethan said, raising his coffee cup.
We clinked our cups together under the warm blue sky.
My phone buzzed on the table. It was an automated notification from the Washington Department of Corrections victim notification network:
OFFENDER STATUS UPDATE: Inmate: Pierce, Grant E. (#388421) Location: Clallam Bay Corrections Center Status: Custody Active — Parole Review Date: June 2038.
I glanced at the screen for two seconds.
Then I swiped the notification away and closed the tab forever.
May you like
He was in a concrete cell, living under the absolute discipline and control he had spent a lifetime imposing on others.
And I was here, sitting in the sunshine, surrounded by the people who truly loved me.
