The wrought iron gates of the Oakridge manor swung open as Marcus pulled his truck into the gravel circular drive.
Autumn leaves swirled across the manicured lawn where police tape had hung only days before.
Toby: It feels so quiet here now.
Clara: It feels peaceful, Toby. For the first time in two years, nobody is yelling behind closed doors.
Marcus helped them carry two cardboard boxes of legal files into the expansive front foyer.
Marcus: The cleaning crew replaced the study locks and packed up all of Evelyn's personal items.
Clara: Where are her things?
Marcus: Storage unit near the industrial park. Her defense lawyer can collect them whenever he wants.
Toby walked over to the stone fireplace where an old framed photograph of their father stood on the mantle.
Toby: Dad would be proud of how you held on in the dark, Clara.
Clara: I held on because I could hear you screaming outside the chapel wall, little brother.
Toby: You heard me?
Clara: I heard the first strike on the lid. I thought I was having a nightmare until I saw daylight through the splinter.
Marcus set his keys on the entryway table and smiled at both of them.
Marcus: I talked to the school board this morning, Toby. They excused your absences, and track practice starts Monday.
Toby: Can Marcus stay for dinner tonight, Clara? We have enough burgers in the freezer.
Clara: Marcus has an open invitation to every dinner in this house for the rest of his life.
Marcus: Only if Toby promises never to swing a sledgehammer inside a church again.
Toby: Deal. From now on, I only use it for firewood.
Clara walked over and wrapped both arms around Toby's shoulders, pulling him tight against her side.
Clara: We're going to fix the garden, paint the porch, and take that trip to Maine Dad always promised us.
Toby: Just the three of us?
Clara: Just our family. Safe, free, and together.
The afternoon sun warmed the wooden floors of the house Arthur built, washing away every shadow left by greed and deceit.
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