For three weeks, my mother-in-law told me they were “special vitamins.”

By the end of the second month, Emma was finally returning to her bright, energetic self.

The blank, glazed look in her eyes had completely vanished, replaced by the fierce curiosity and boundless energy characteristic of a normal four-year-old. She ran around the backyard chasing our neighbor’s golden retriever, built towering block castles that scraped the ceiling of her playroom, and laughed with a ringing, unrestrained joy that brought tears to my eyes every time I heard it.

The legal case against Diane was moving toward a formal trial date.

Her defense attorney had attempted to file motions for a psychological evaluation, suggesting that Diane was suffering from cognitive decline or late-onset paranoia, but the state’s medical experts quickly dismantled the claim. Diane was lucid, calculating, and fully aware of her actions—as proven beyond a shadow of a doubt by her own handwritten journal entries.

David and I provided our final depositions to the district attorney’s office on a crisp Tuesday morning in early spring.

Walking out of the courthouse hand-in-hand, the air felt lighter than it had in months.

“Her lawyer offered a plea deal this morning,” David mentioned as we reached our car. “Five years with a possibility of parole after three, in exchange for pleading guilty to all counts.”

I stopped with my hand on the car door handle.

“Will you take it?”

“The DA asked for our input,” David said, looking straight ahead. “They wanted to know if we wanted to put Emma through a public trial or if we preferred closure.”

I thought about Emma’s laughter echoing through our backyard. I thought about the secure, locked doors of our home, and the peace we were slowly rebuilding brick by brick.