The moment my feet touched the cold hardwood floor, my exhaustion vanished. I took a step forward, and Eloise did the same, letting her plush blanket pool around her ankles on the rug. We met in the middle of the room, crashing into a tight, desperate hug.
We held onto each other for a long moment, the shared trauma of what we had survived humming silently between us. When we finally pulled back, Eloise kept her hands resting gently on my shoulders, her eyes searching my face.
"You did it," Eloise whispered, a fragile, disbelieving smile touching her lips as she looked me over. "Rachel, you actually did it."
I took a moment to look over her, too. I was relieved to see that the dark, angry bruises she’d sported in my father's cellar had faded to faint, barely noticeable yellow marks. Her
