We rebuilt something new. Not a marriage. Not quite. But a bond. A partnership forged in pain and the will to heal. We became a family that did not need perfection to function.
With the last untied funds from an old trust, I bought the land where Jace and Brielle had once been held. A forgotten industrial wasteland on the outskirts of Santa Fe. Barbed wire. Rusted machinery. Graffiti that screamed warnings. It was everything I used to ignore.
I called architects. Environmental activists. Trauma counselors. Former employees who still believed in me despite every reason not to. I begged for help and people answered. Maybe because they wanted a cause. Maybe because they wanted to witness a miracle. Maybe because they needed to believe that monsters could claw their way back to humanity.
The transformation took a year. The smell of rot faded. Grass took root. A playground appeared where there once were cages. A community center rose with murals painted by teens who had never been given a canvas before. We named it Horizon Haven.