Gavin was ordered to return a significant portion of the money he’d removed from our joint account, and I finally received permission to retrieve my belongings from the house.
For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like someone else controlled whether Piper and I had somewhere to sleep.
We moved into the cabin two weeks later.
It needed work.
A lot of it.
Nadine helped me scrub the kitchen. My brother repaired the porch railing. Piper chose soft yellow paint for her bedroom because, according to her, rabbits liked sunny colors.
The remaining porcelain rabbits now sit on a shelf above the fireplace.
The large crowned rabbit is there too.
I glued its pieces back together, although the cracks are still visible across its body and through the little gold crown.
One evening, I asked Piper if she’d like me to find another one.
She looked horrified.
“Why would we replace him?”
“Because he’s broken.”
She climbed onto a chair and carefully touched one of the cracks.
“No, Mom. He’s the one who showed us where home was.”
I looked around the cabin my father had protected for me all those years, then at the daughter who had somehow remained cheerful even when our whole life fit inside a motel room.
Piper adjusted the rabbit’s crooked crown.
“He stays.”
And he did.
