My finger ran along the chain around my neck as Clara put dinner on the table. Her gaze would linger on the new lock every time she passed the door. Miles and I installed a lock on each of the doors. There were only two keys, and each of them was around our necks. Maisie was bright and would be scheming to get her hands on one of the keys once she discovered she was locked in the house. Clara asked for a key, but Maisie was stronger than my wife. She would try to steal the key from Clara while we were outside.

There was no screaming when Miles went to his room. Miles did not usually speak when we were outside, but today he repeatedly asked about Maisie. He was eager to untie her but smart enough to listen to me. Maisie was forced to think and realize how much she needed us. She belonged to this family.

Miles's arm was tight around Maisie's waist as they descended the stairs. She was not pulling away from his hold. Instead, she was leaning into him with her hand on his chest. Her fingers were curled into his shirt. I smirked while swirling the whiskey in my glass. I had been limiting myself to one glass to keep my mind sharp. Being two steps ahead of Maisie was crucial, and I was succeeding.

Maisie's hair was braided. She had on another one of Emily's old dresses, but the bandages were visible around her wrists. Her steps were shaky as she tried to regain her strength. She avoided making eye contact with me when Miles helped her sit at the table.

"You look nice," I told her. "I'm glad you are feeling better."

Maisie did not say anything. Miles put his hand on the top of her head before he ran his fingers down her hair. She did not flinch or pull away.

Clara set the last bowl on the table before sitting next to me. Without prompting, Maisie filled her plate full of food. Since I brought her here, she struggled to eat because she had been so focused on an escape plan. Now, she was comfortable enough to understand we were her family.

Maisie was quiet as she ate. She did not lift her head to look at any of us, and all of her attention was on the food. Miles was watching her throughout dinner. His eyes were focused on her every movement. The corner of his lips pulled into a smile as he watched his wife. I had not seen him this happy in a long time, and my chest warmed to think I had brought Maisie to him.

Clara barely spoke, and most of the dinner was spent listening to the clang of cutlery against plates. When I finished, I leaned back in my seat and drained the remaining whiskey in my glass. I watched as Maisie shoved the last bite of her food into her mouth.

"I'm glad to see you're eating," I said.

Maisie raised her head to look at me. She had been tied to the bed for less than twenty-four hours. Because of her stubbornness, I anticipated she would be restrained to the bed for days. She was no longer screaming and fighting because we were able to clear her thinking. However, there was still the possibility she would run again, so installing the locks was a good idea.

"I missed having Maisie around the house today," Clara said. "I've really enjoyed spending time with her lately. She is such a sweet girl."

Maisie looked back down on her plate. Her movements were quick, but I did not miss the blush spreading across her cheeks. She was used to the men in that disgusting tavern who only wanted to use her for her body. Was she ever complimented? This would be a way to show her how much she was loved.

"What is it specifically that you like?" I asked Clara.

"Maisie is so lovely," she said. "I never thought we would have another girl in this house after Emily, but Maisie has been a beautiful breath of fresh air. She listens to me when I ramble nonsense and has so much patience. I've also loved hearing the stories about her grandmother."

I had not thought much about what Clara and Maisie discussed during the day. Clara did not complain about Maisie crying and screaming, so I assumed Maisie would refuse to speak. Did Clara know more about her than any of us?

Maisie's head remained hanging low, but her eyes were squeezed shut. Was she trying to push away the thoughts of her grandmother? Her values made me know she was meant to be a Wilcox. To her, family meant everything.

"It's good that Maisie is no longer alone," I said. "She deserves to be part of this family."

Maisie shook her head slightly, but she could not push away the truth no matter how hard she tried.

"Maisie Wilcox," I said. "It's perfect. It's who you were meant to be."

"I never thought I would get to have a daughter again," Clara said. "Maisie has been a gift."

Clara's words were perfect, and she did not even realize it. Maisie lifted her chin. Her eyes were wide, but it was not the look of fear she had last night. There was no panic, and she was not teetering on the edge of having another meltdown. Her eyes were soft as if her heart was swelling in her chest. Her lips parted slightly like she was trying to stop herself from smiling.

She was not looking at the family, but her attention was focused on me. Since I brought her here, she had been unable to make eye contact with me for more than a few seconds. Now, her gaze was intense. She did not blink, and her brows furrowed as she examined my face. Was she seeing me as someone new? Her mind was finally understanding what I wanted her to see.

"We love you, Maisie," I said.

Her shoulders lowered as she let out a deep breath. She had held onto so much tension since I met her in the tavern.

I tried not to be naive and think I was watching her transform in front of my eyes. She was unaware of the new locks, so this could have been an act. When she discovers she cannot leave, she will lose any remaining pointless fantasies about running away. She would realize this was where she belonged.

"What do you say?" I asked.

Maisie looked at Miles. He had not stopped watching her throughout dinner. His smile grew bigger, softening the features on his usually stern face. Was he also seeing this change in Maisie? I prayed that he would not soften and lower his guard. Soft was never a word I would have associated with Miles, but Maisie was also changing him. They were both becoming better.

Miles leaned in closer and put his hand on her thigh. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. A few seconds of silence passed, and we were all eager to hear her response.

"Thank you," she said.

Her voice raised at the end, but it was not to form the statement into a question. It sounded as if she was trying to stop her voice from cracking. She did not want to be crying and was showing control.

"You're welcome," I said.

Clara stood and grabbed the plates.

"Maisie, help me clean up," she said.

Maisie nodded as she stood and grabbed some of the plates. I watched as they cleared the dishes. Clara and Maisie's voices were low as they were at the sink, which made it difficult to hear. Miles leaned forward on the table so he could watch them.

"You really like her," I said.

Miles ran his hand along his jaw, but his eyes did not leave Maisie.

"I love her," he said. "She is actually perfect."

Love? That happened a lot quicker than I anticipated. Miles had only ever been soft with the family, and after Emily's death he was cold with us.

"I'm glad I brought her here," I said.

"Where did you find her?" he asked.

I drummed my fingers on the table, unsure if I should tell him the truth. Would his opinion change and his happiness dissolve? Would he see her in a different light? I needed to word it carefully.

"I stopped at a tavern when I was heading to the city to find Bram," I said. "Maisie was there, and I could see she was unhappy."

"What was she doing in a tavern?" Miles asked.

He continued to watch Maisie as she cleaned the dishes with Clara.

"She was alone," I said. "She had lost her family."

"What would that have to do with going to a bar?" he asked.

I hesitated, and it caught Miles's attention because I never hesitate. He tore his gaze away from Maisie to look at me. His brows were furrowed, causing a deep crease in his forehead.

"What is it?" he asked.

I let out a deep breath. He needed to know the truth. Maisie would most likely tell him about her past one day, so I would be caught in a lie.

"She had no family, so she had no money," I said. "That bar was full of disgusting men."

Miles did not understand what I said at first. When his eyes widened and his jaw hung open, I could tell the realization washed over him. He looked back over at Maisie, who was now drying her hands on a dish towel. Without a word, he stood and stormed over to her. He grabbed her arm, and she stumbled as he pulled her to the stairs.

I prepared myself for it to be a night of Maisie's screaming.