That would have been easier.
Instead, she went quiet. Then she looked out toward the barn like she was trying to understand how anyone could look at Hope, or Bobcat Billie, or the goats we bottle-fed through the night, and think we were the monsters.
I hated that more than the sign.
I hated that my daughter had to learn kindness can still be misunderstood by people determined to see cruelty where there isn’t any.
So yes…One day, we’re going to move.
Not away from the sanctuary. I’ll still run it. I’ll still show up every morning and work until my body reminds me I’m not made of steel.
But Livy deserves a home that feels separate from all of that.
A place where she can be a little girl instead of the sanctuary owner’s daughter.
A place where grief doesn’t always come with chores.
I look down at the tiny tree and swallow past the knot in my throat.
“And you think Hope would like it here?” I ask.
Livy nods, crouching beside the hole we dug together.
“She can watch the kids play,” she says softly. “And when people sit under her shade one day, they’ll feel peaceful. Like she finally got to be.”
Oh, my sweet girl.
I blink fast, but it doesn’t help much.
“I think she’d love that,” I whisper.
Livy reaches for the compost bag, holding it with both hands like it’s something precious.
Because it is.
“Can I do it?”
“Of course, honey.”
Together, we pour Hope into the earth. Not all of her. Just enough to become part of something living. Something that will grow roots and branches and leaves reaching up toward the sky.
Livy pats the soil gently around the base of the tree.
“Goodbye, Hope,” she whispers. “You get to grow now.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulders and press a kiss to the side of her head.
And for the first time since Hope closed her eyes, my daughter smiles. Not big. Not bright.
But real.
A little broken…a little brave…and a little bit of hope.
But real.
Chapter Four
Maverick
