Despite the risk, Amelia refused to completely cut ties with her grandparents. We visited them regularly, slipping into Darien under the cover of night. They welcomed her with open arms, never once questioning her choice to run.

But I knew.

I could see it in their eyes.

They wanted her to be safe. They wanted her to be happy. But they also knew that one day, Michael might come looking for her. Still, they promised. They swore they wouldn't tell him, and Amelia believed them.

They even tried to give her money, but she refused.

"I'll be fine, I have Lena with me," she had said, offering a small, tired smile. "I can handle it."

Their love gave her comfort, but it wasn't enough to sustain us. We needed to build something of our own, something stable. That's when we began searching for work.

She found work almost too easily, as if fate had set it up for her.

We were lucky.

The café we stumbled upon wasn't just a cozy little spot in the corner of downtown—it had a piano. A gorgeous, well-loved old piano, nestled in the back near the stage where musicians sometimes played for extra tips.

The first time Amelia sat down at it, something shifted in her. The weight she carried, the sadness that clung to her like a second skin—it didn't disappear. But for a moment, it softened. And when she played—really played—people noticed. They listened and they paid her.

At first, she was hesitant. But I encouraged her to play. To return to her old world, to be her old self before Michael. And this time, she played not for anyone else—but for herself. Slowly, she found her way back, piece by piece.

She played a few nights a week, the café owners more than happy to keep her on. And I worked alongside her—helping with tables, cleaning up after closing.

It was simple.

It was routine.

It was safe.

But even as Amelia found her happiness again, I made sure she took care of herself. She wasn't alone in this. She wasn't just running anymore. She was building something new.

And so was I.

Because somewhere along the way, between late-night talks and stolen moments of laughter, I realized something. I wasn't just protecting her anymore. I cared. More than I should. More than I ever intended to.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure if I still wanted to leave this world at all.