88I came home early and nearly fired the young maid I found sitting on my kitchen floor, making my three daughters laugh for the first time since their mother was murdered. But before I could throw her out, my eldest daughter grabbed my coat, looked me straight in the eyes, and spoke her first words in fourteen months: “Daddy killed Mommy.”

The house was quiet, but it was no longer a tomb.

I walked up the grand marble staircase and headed down the east wing toward the nursery. As I approached the door, I heard voices coming from inside.

"Look, Clara! I painted the butterfly green!"

"It's very pretty, Mia," Clara's soft voice replied. "What about you, Valentina?"

"Mine is blue! Like the ocean!"

I stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the scene before me.

The nursery was bathed in warm morning sunlight. Clara sat on the large carpet, surrounded by watercolors, paper, and wooden blocks. Mia and Valentina were sitting on either side of her, giggling as they painted, their voices bright, musical, and full of life.

And sitting right in Clara's lap was Lucia, holding a paintbrush, carefully painting a bright yellow sun in the corner of her paper.

Lucia looked up and saw me standing in the doorway.

She set her paintbrush down, slid off Clara's lap, and walked across the room toward me. Mia and Valentina stopped painting, turning their big hazel eyes toward the door.

"Daddy?" Lucia asked softly, standing right in front of me.

I dropped to my knees, opening my arms wide. "I'm home, baby. Just like I promised."

Lucia threw her tiny arms around my neck, burying her face into my shoulder. Within seconds, Mia and Valentina scrambled across the carpet, throwing their arms around us too, clinging to my coat, their bright laughter filling the room like a glorious symphony.

"Is the bad man gone?" Valentina whispered against my cheek.

"He's gone forever, sweetie," I said, holding all three of my daughters tight against my chest, tears slipping down my face. "He can never hurt us again."

Clara stood up from the floor, wiping her hands on a cloth, a gentle, beautiful smile resting on her lips as she watched us.

I looked up at her over my daughters' shoulders.