They walked out to the garden, to the oak tree that had watched so much of their lives.
“The tree survived too,” Elo said.
“Just like you,” Sky said.
They sat under it one last time.
“Remember the first time we sat here?” Sky asked.
“You told me everything would be okay,” Elo said.
“Was I right?” Sky asked.
“You were right,” Elo said.
When they left the estate that day, Elo didn’t look back.
A few weeks later, ten-year-old Maya came home from school with worry in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Elo asked.
“A girl in my class said her dad yells at her all the time,” Maya said. “Makes her feel scared.”
“Did she tell a teacher?” Elo asked.
“She’s too scared,” Maya said. “I told her she should tell someone. Like you always say.”
Elo pulled her into a hug.
“That’s exactly right,” she said. “You did good.”
The next day, Elo called the school.
“A student in my daughter’s class might need help,” she said. “Can you check on her?”
The counselor promised to follow up. Two days later, the counselor called back.
“We spoke with the girl,” the counselor said. “She opened up. We’re getting her family support.”
Elo felt relief wash through her.
Even retired from the spotlight, she couldn’t stop helping.
That year, Maya noticed the faint scars on her mother’s scalp for the first time.
They were in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Elo had her hair pulled up, and the bathroom light caught the pale lines.
“Mommy, what are those marks?” Maya asked.
Elo froze for a second. She’d known this question would come.
“When I was little,” she said, “someone hurt me. These are the marks left behind.”
“Does it hurt now?” Maya asked.
“No, baby,” Elo said. “Not anymore.”
“Who hurt you?” Maya asked.
“Someone who was supposed to take care of me,” Elo said. “But my friend—your Auntie Sky—helped me. And now I’m okay.”
Maya touched the scars gently with small fingers.
“I’m sorry that happened,” she said.
“Me too,” Elo replied. “But I make sure it doesn’t happen to other kids now.”
“That’s why you help people,” Maya said.
“Yes,” Elo said.
“You’re the best mommy,” Maya said.
Elo’s eyes filled with tears.
“You’re the best daughter,” she said.
At thirty-eight, Elo received news that surprised her.
Miss Calva had died in prison. Natural causes.
Elo stared at the short notice on her phone.
She called Sky.
“Miss Calva died,” she said.
“How do you feel?” Sky asked.
“I don’t know,” Elo said. “Sad for her, maybe. But mostly… nothing.”