Chapter 15 - THE CAMERA STAYED OFF
Drew is nine now.
Lily is six.
The old basement footage remains sealed in the case archive.
Neither child has watched it.
Their therapists advise there is no reason to show them while they are young unless some future clinical or legal need changes that.
I agree.
They already lived it.
They do not need replay.
There are cameras in my house, technically.
Doorbell camera.
One outside over the driveway because somebody once stole tools from my truck.
None inside.
Drew asked why.
I told him:
“People deserve privacy at home.”
He nodded like that answer was obvious.
I wish it had always been.
Reena remains incarcerated.
Her contact restrictions continue.
She completed several treatment programs according to reports sent through counsel.
I do not monitor her life beyond what guardianship requires.
I have stopped needing to know whether she is suffering enough.
That question never fed a child.
The trust is professionally managed.
Survivor benefits go through proper accounts.
Every dollar used for Drew or Lily is documented.
Not because I think families should live like auditors.
Because children’s money belongs to children.
Aaron got that part right.
Our mornings are chaotic now.
Lily refuses matching socks.
Drew hates eggs but forgets this every six weeks and asks for them again.
I burn toast.
We are late more often than I would like.
Ordinary failure.
Safe failure.
Last Saturday, Drew walked with me to the hardware store.
Seven blocks from our house.
I noticed the distance only halfway there.
Same distance he crawled with a broken leg.
He did not.
He was complaining about the heat and asking whether we could buy a cordless drill.
At the corner, Lily ran ahead toward the crosswalk.
Drew immediately shouted:
“Wait for Uncle Peter!”
Then he stopped himself.
Looked at me.
And smiled.
Not his responsibility.
Mine.
That evening, after they went to bed, Diane called.
She had received something through Reena’s attorney.
A sealed letter.
Addressed jointly to Drew and Lily.
Reena had written it as part of a prison family-accountability program.
No request for contact.
No legal demand.
Just a letter intended for the children if their guardian ever believed they should receive it.
“What do you want me to do?” Diane asked.
I looked down the hallway.
Drew’s bedroom door was half open.
Lily’s night-light painted a thin purple stripe across the carpet.
“I don’t know yet.”
And that is the one part of our story I still have not decided.
Most things are settled.
The basement house is gone.
The criminal case is resolved.
The money is protected.
Drew walks normally.
Lily eats without hiding food.
The siblings remain together.
They know adults—not Drew—are responsible for keeping them safe.
They know Aaron loved them.
They know Peter comes when he says he will.
Only Reena’s letter remains unopened.
Maybe when they are older, they will want to read it.
Maybe they will want nothing from her.
That choice will belong to them.
For years, Reena taught Drew that telling the truth would make him lose his sister.
Now I know the opposite happened.
He told the truth.
May you like
He crawled seven blocks.
And he brought both of them home.
