My chest felt like it was breaking, but I kept my voice steady. I pulled her close, whispering that I could never hate her.

That was three weeks ago.

Chloe is back home now. Her collarbone is healing, and the color has finally returned to her cheeks.

She’s sitting on the back porch right now, watching our golden retriever chase a tennis ball in the yard.

The plush pink bunny keychain is back on her school bag, hanging by her desk.

As for David and Brenda, the legal hammer fell fast. The state medical board shut down the clinic in Monroe within a week. It turned out the individual operating there did not even have an active license in Ohio.

My lawyer, Martin, is currently finalizing the paperwork to strip David of his joint custody. He hasn’t called Chloe once since that night. I don’t think he ever will. He’s too afraid of the court dates.

And honestly? That’s fine with me.

We still have a long way to go. There are still nights where Chloe wakes up crying from a bad dream, and we have to sit in the kitchen with a cup of warm tea until the sun comes up. But she is safe. She is sleeping under my roof.

I sat down next to her on the porch swing this afternoon. The sun was warm on our faces.

I asked her what she wanted for dinner, rubbing her shoulder.

“Pancakes, Mom,” she said, looking at me with the first real, genuine smile I’d seen in a month.

I laughed, pulling her close. We are going to be okay.