Chapter 10

Six months later, I bought my own place.

On my birthday, the doorbell rang. My parents, my three brothers, and Diana were standing outside. My father was holding flowers, and instead of walking right in like he used to, he asked, "May we come in?"

I stepped aside.

The table was small, and there weren't enough chairs. Lucas went to get more without being asked. Ethan hung up everyone's coats. Noah asked if he could put the cake in the fridge.

My mother stood beside the table without telling anyone where to sit. "Sylvia, where do you want to sit?"

That stopped me for a second.

It was an ordinary question, and yet it took me somewhere else for a moment. This was the first birthday I'd spent with all of them since they found me.

No concert. Nobody stationed outside somebody else's bedroom door. Nobody leaving in a hurry the second the candles were lit. I even caught myself glancing at the phone on the table. Nobody took a call, and nobody stood up.

It turns out that when everybody is actually at the table, a birthday can be this quiet.

I pulled out the chair by the window. "Here."

My mother nodded. "All right."

No one asked where Diana usually sat.

When the cake was cut, my mother started to pass the first slice to Diana out of habit, then stopped halfway. Diana noticed. She didn't wait for it to be placed in front of her the way she used to. She said quietly, "Sylvia first. It's her birthday."

My mother looked at me and held out the plate. "The first slice is yours."

I took it, and the three birthdays before this one came back to me. The concert tickets. The empty chairs. The dinner gone cold. The frosting that had melted by one in the morning.

I used to think the next birthday would be better. The next one had finally arrived.

They were all sitting here. No one told me to wait. No one pushed what mattered to me to the back of the line. They had finally remembered to ask where I wanted to sit. And yet I wasn't as happy as I'd imagined I would be.

I suppose that is what it looks like when someone makes it up to you too late.

You don't get it when you want it most. When they bring it to you later, no matter how carefully, all it proves is that they've finally understood why it hurt you back then.

I looked down and took a bite of the cake.

Still sweet. Just not the slice I was waiting for three years ago.

When I walked them out that night, Diana was the last to go.

"Do you still hold people accountable?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that exhausting?"

I looked at the name on my door.

Sylvia Hart.

"It used to be. Not anymore."

"Why?" Diana asked.

I put my hand on the door handle. "Because before, I had to keep asking questions to prove I'd been wronged. I don't have to anymore.

"I choose my own place."