My reunion with Emma is more than I could have asked for and better than I imagined it could be. She walks toward the house cautiously at first, with her little pink schoolbag on her back, holding her stuffed pig in one hand and the other tucked safely into Nora’s. But the instant she sees me when I throw the door open, she stops, her eyes growing huge with surprise, then happiness. She drops Nora’s hand and charges toward me, hurling herself into my arms and nearly toppling me.

“Emma! Oh, Emma!” I cry into her hair, smelling a vanilla scented shampoo I don’t recognize, hugging her tiny body to mine as she hugs me with all her force for so long, it brings tears to my eyes to think of what this child, this five-year-old child has gone through, has seen. The evil she knows exists in the world she lives in.

I draw back, wiping my eyes and nose and look at her face, pushing her hair away. I look into her eyes and I’m so happy that I don’t see Lucien in them. I see nothing of him. Only Emma, my sweet little sister. And I hug her again, lifting her with me as I stand.

Nora joins us having picked up Emma’s discarded backpack. She smiles kindly.

“She’s such a good girl,” she says to me as she rubs Emma’s back. “Like Hannah was. So good.”

I look at the older woman for a moment and see her sadness. And I understand the brothers’ hesitation to grant me my wish to rebury my father. He destroyed their lives. Separate from what Lucien did, my father was just as guilty to cover it up, to try to bury it. He could have stopped it, but he chose a different path and his choices caused too much harm.

I reach one arm to Nora and pull her into our hug too and she so easily hugs me back. I think maybe, just maybe, we can start to heal now. All of us. I don’t think the damage will ever be repaired wholly. There will always be cracks. But Bastian is right. Those cracks make us strong and they can be beautiful in their own way.

“Vittoria,” I hear in my ear and blink away my tears because it’s Emma. It’s Emma’s sweet little voice that I haven’t heard in too long. So long that I’d forgotten it.

I draw back and set her down, crouching to be at eye level.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I ask, trying not to cry.

“Vittoria,” she says again. Then points behind me. “Bastian. Amadeo.” Then to Nora. “Nana.”

Nana.

I don’t correct her.