From the hallway, Tom called, “Are we leaving today or next Tuesday?”

“Tuesday!” Ellie shouted mischievously.

He laughed.

“Then I’ll go back to bed.”

“No!” she squealed, jumping from the chair.

She ran toward him, asking whether we could stop for ice cream.

Nora picked up Ellie’s sweater.

I put the hairbrush away.

For a moment, I stood still, watching my sister prepare her daughter for the day.

My daughter.

The same little girl.

Loved by all of us.

Nothing about our situation was simple.

There were legal questions still unresolved, medical records still being investigated, and difficult conversations waiting ahead.

But Ellie was laughing.

She was safe.

And she was surrounded by people who loved her.

Nora paused at the doorway.

“Claire? Are you coming?”

I picked up my purse.

“Right behind you.”

Then we stepped outside together.

For five years, I’d believed my daughter was gone forever.