CHAPTER 26 — THE QUIET VIGIL
The second pregnancy was uneventful in the best possible way. Emily was monitored closely by her medical team, but her body had healed completely from the trauma of three years prior. Her uterine wall was strong, her blood pressure was perfect, and her spirit was serene.
Ethan, too, had changed. He was attentive and loving, but the frantic, panicked edge to his care was gone. He didn't jump when the phone rang; he didn't check the locks multiple times. He had learned to trust the safety they had built.
One evening, during her eighth month, Emily sat on the back porch, watching Clara play with a toy lawnmower on the grass. The air was warm with the scent of summer jasmine.
Ethan came out, handing her a glass of ice water. He sat beside her on the wooden bench, resting his hand on her large, rounded stomach.
“Do you ever think about her?” he asked quietly, his voice neutral. He didn't need to specify who she was.
Emily looked down at his hand on her belly. “Sometimes. Usually when I see something in the news about prison reforms or legal cases. But it feels like thinking about a character in a book I read a long time ago. She doesn't feel real to me anymore. Her anger, her cruelty... it feels so small compared to this.” She waved her hand toward Clara, who was currently laughing at a robin that had landed on the fence.
“I checked the legal updates last week,” Ethan admitted softly. “Her second appeal was denied. She’s going to serve the full eight years before parole eligibility. She’s completely isolated. Her parents stopped visiting her six months ago.”
Emily felt a brief, passing wave of pity, not for Madison the attacker, but for the utter waste of a human life. Madison had chosen destruction, and it had consumed her entirely.
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“Let it go, Ethan,” Emily said gently, turning to look into his eyes. “We don't need to keep vigil over her punishment. Our vigil is here.”
Ethan looked at his wife, then at his daughter, and then down at the new life kicking beneath his palm. He nodded, a finality settling into his features. “You’re right. It’s gone.”
