Chapter 6
Simon disappeared before police reached his apartment.
That told us enough.
His accounts did not disappear with him.
Marcus had court orders in place by morning.
Money trails began lighting up.
Payments from Celeste.
Payments to a private evaluator.
Draft psychiatric reports about Ava.
A prepared statement from me, forged, claiming my daughter suffered severe delusions about being mistreated.
My signature was almost perfect.
Almost.
Celeste had practiced.
I remembered her asking me to sign charity cards.
Dinner menus.
Holiday notes.
Stupid little things.
Or so I thought.
She had been learning my hand.
Ava sat across from me when Marcus explained it.
Her face stayed calm.
Too calm.
After he left, I said, “You don’t have to sit through all this.”
She looked at me.
“I lived through it.”
That shut me up.
She was right.
Adults love hiding ugly details from victims after forcing them to survive the ugliest part.
No more.
We told her truth.
Carefully.
But truth.
The court granted an emergency protective order.
Celeste could not contact Ava.
Simon’s access to family assets was frozen.
The trust activated its protection clause.
Ava’s inheritance moved under independent oversight until she chose otherwise as an adult.
Celeste lost what she had been starving my daughter to get.
That should have felt like victory.
Instead, Ava asked, “Will she come back?”
I sat beside her.
“Not here.”
“She said rich people always come back.”
“Then we make sure doors know better.”
I changed every lock.
Every staff contract.
Every access code.
Every camera password.
I fired the driver.
Not cruelly.
Clearly.
Fear explained his silence.
It did not excuse it.
Maria tried to resign.
I refused.
Then corrected myself.
“I mean, I don’t want you to. But I understand if you need to.”
She cried.
“I should have protected her.”
“Yes,” I said.
Ava stepped forward.
“You hid my letters.”
Maria covered her mouth.
Ava hugged her.
That was my daughter.
Still kind.
Not weak.
Kind.
Celeste had mistaken the difference.
That night, Ava asked to sleep in her own room.
We removed the lock.
Burned the maid uniforms in the fireplace.
Not for drama.
For breath.
Ava watched the flames and whispered, “I want my room back.”
May you like
I put Elena’s letters on her desk.
“It’s yours.”
