We left La Vista the next morning before the sun had fully stretched across the sky. My body was still tired, but my spirit was lighter than it had been in days. She was coming home. That was enough to keep me moving.
Sheryl insisted on driving first, sliding behind the wheel like she was on a mission of her own. My daughter climbed into the passenger seat, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, hair tied up but still wild from sleep. I settled in the back, finally letting the hum of the tires and the steady rhythm of the road lull me into short pockets of rest.
From where I sat, I could see their profiles - Sheryl's determined focus on the road, my daughter staring out the window like she was watching the world for the first time again. The tension in her shoulders wasn't gone yet, but there was something softer in her face.
We crossed into Arizona, then New Mexico, each mile putting more distance between her and the nightmare she'd lived through. We stopped only for gas, food, and quick bathroom breaks. The hours blurred together - coffee cups, gas station snacks, the occasional laughter from the front seat when Sheryl told one of her stories to keep my daughter awake.
By the time we rolled into Mississippi, my phone was buzzing with messages from family. Her grandfather had been calling since sunrise.
"I just need to see her," he'd said. "Just need to put my arms around my granddaughter and know she's alright."
We pulled into the parking lot of a small diner off the highway. The smell of fried catfish and cornbread drifted out as soon as we opened the doors. And there he was - her grandfather - standing beside his truck, his eyes searching until they landed on her.
He didn't walk; he moved fast, covering the space between them like a man who'd been holding his breath for days. She froze for a moment, then broke into a run, the blanket falling from her shoulders.
When they collided, he wrapped his arms around her so tightly that her feet left the ground. His voice cracked.
"Lord, thank You. Thank You for bringing my baby back."
She buried her face in his chest, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded - the miles ahead, the court dates waiting for us, the nightmares she'd have to work through. All that existed was the hug of a grandfather who thought he might never get one again.
We sat together in the diner for a while, eating plates of fried chicken and biscuits. My daughter didn't say much, but she smiled more than she had since California. Her grandfather kept a hand on her shoulder the entire time, as if afraid she might vanish if he let go.
When it was time to leave, he kissed her forehead.
"You remember, you got a whole family that loves you," he said. "And a God who didn't let the devil win."
Back in the car, I leaned my head against the window, watching the Mississippi landscape slide by. We still had hours - days - before Florida, but each mile home felt like a stitch in a wound that was finally starting to close.