Chapter 25
The following year brought a beautiful, steady rhythm back into our daily lives. The house was no longer a sterile museum governed by Victoria’s tyrannical rules; it was a home, messy, loud, and full of life. We painted the walls warm, inviting colors. Lily covered the refrigerator with her school artwork and photographs of her friends.
We developed new traditions to replace the painful memories. Every Friday night became our sacred cooking night. We would put on a playlist of terrible 80s music, cover the kitchen counters in flour, and attempt to make complex recipes we found on the internet. Half the time, the meals were completely inedible, and we ended up ordering greasy takeout pizza while laughing until our stomachs hurt.
During one of these Friday nights, while we were struggling to roll out fresh pasta dough, Lily suddenly threw a handful of flour directly at my face. I stood completely shocked, covered in white powder, while she doubled over in hysterical laughter.
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"Oh, it is absolutely on," I laughed, grabbing my own handful of flour and chasing her around the kitchen island.
We spent the next ten minutes having a full-blown flour war, slipping on the hardwood floors and making an absolute, glorious mess of the kitchen that Victoria would have had a stroke over. As I looked at Lily, her hair covered in flour, her face flushed with pure, unadulterated joy, I realized that the healing was finally complete. The terrified girl in the freezing basement was gone, completely replaced by a vibrant, happy teenager who knew with absolute certainty that she was safe and unconditionally loved.
