Chapter 15
Three years after the staircase, Birdie was ten.
The mansion still had the marble stairs.
Lorenzo had considered remodeling them.
Birdie told him that was stupid.
“The stairs didn’t push me.”
He could not argue.
Isolde was no longer part of their life.
Her sentence, supervision, and protective order had settled that relationship.
The Mercer archive had been transferred to an independent nonprofit custodian.
The false contact records were permanently flagged and corrected.
Maeve’s letters existed in a sealed therapeutic file.
All six of the ones Isolde intercepted had been preserved.
Birdie knew that.
She had read two.
Not all.
The first was the shortest.
Maeve had written it when Birdie was four.
I don’t know what you like yet, so I won’t pretend I do. I hope somebody reads you good books. I hope you laugh a lot. I hope you know the decision I made when you were a baby was never because you weren’t wanted.
Birdie cried after reading it.
Then became angry.
Then asked for ice cream.
Children were allowed to contain multiple things at once.
She had also read the letter Maeve sent after Elena died.
That one said:
I am sorry the mother raising you is gone. I will never use her absence to make myself bigger in your life.
Birdie had folded that one herself.
Now Maeve had requested something new through the independent therapist.
An in-person meeting.
No mansion.
No cameras.
No press.
No extended family.
A quiet office.
Forty-five minutes.
Only if Birdie wanted it.
Lorenzo sat at the kitchen table while the therapist explained.
Birdie swung one leg beneath the chair.
“Will she hug me?”
“Only if you want,” the therapist said.
“Will she cry?”
“Maybe.”
Birdie looked at Lorenzo.
“Will you be there?”
“If you want.”
“What if I don’t?”
“I’ll wait outside.”
She studied him.
Lorenzo no longer rushed to fill silence.
That had taken years.
Birdie asked:
“Do you want me to meet her?”
He thought carefully.
“I want you to know you’re allowed to.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No.”
“Do you like her?”
“I barely know her anymore.”
“Does she like you?”
Lorenzo almost smiled.
“That is not important.”
Birdie frowned.
“Adults say that when something is important.”
The therapist laughed quietly.
Lorenzo conceded.
“Fair.”
Everything else had an answer.
Isolde had been exposed.
The wedding was canceled.
The false messages were corrected.
The Mercer business alliance ended without violence.
Isolde faced criminal consequences for what she did to Birdie and for the records she manipulated.
Lorenzo faced consequences for striking Isolde.
Maeve had not attempted to undo Birdie’s adoption or compete with Elena’s memory.
Birdie knew that the woman who gave birth to her had not disappeared because she felt nothing.
Only one question remained open.
Whether Birdie wanted Maeve to become a real person in her life rather than a name on paper.
Not whether Lorenzo could tolerate it.
Not whether Maeve deserved it.
Not whether Elena would somehow approve.
Birdie’s answer belonged to Birdie.
She picked up the newest sealed letter.
“Can I read this one first?”
The therapist nodded.
“Of course.”
“And then decide?”
“Yes.”
Birdie looked at her father.
“You’re not going to decide?”
Lorenzo leaned back.
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Birdie smiled faintly.
Three years earlier, Isolde had tried to throw her down a staircase because the child was getting too close to a truth adults had hidden.
May you like
Now the truth sat safely in Birdie’s hands.
And nobody was allowed to push her toward what came next.
