Chapter 4

Emily rented a small conference room next to the hospital and covered the table with papers.

"Let's start with the most important part." She pointed to an old authorization form. "A few years ago, your father named you as his healthcare proxy. If the doctors decide he can't make medical decisions on his own for now, this document lets you make medical decisions for him. Noah doesn't have that authority."

Then she opened the trust records and my stock documents.

"You can start by revoking unnecessary joint management rights over your mother's estate and your separate accounts. Your early company shares are subject to the IPO lockup period, so you can't just sell them. You have to follow securities law to the letter. You have enough to walk away. You don't need to hold the whole company hostage."

"I never planned to take his company."

"Good. The divorce has to go through the full legal process, and we'll have to ask the court for protective measures. We'll move forward carefully, one step at a time."

With my left hand, I wrote down three things: keep Dad's medical information limited to designated family members, find a rehab hospital in Maine willing to admit him, and move all of my mother's things out of the apartment.

That afternoon, when Dad was awake and clear-headed, I told him the whole plan.

He listened quietly without interrupting. Then he reached out and, carefully avoiding my splint, held my injured wrist.

"Before, no matter what happened, you always thought of Noah first."

"I used to think that was what marriage was supposed to look like."

"There's nothing wrong with being understanding toward your partner." Dad looked at me. "But don't ever think you have to beg him just because I'm sick. If your mother were still alive and saw what you're going through, it would break her heart."

My eyes stung. I turned to the side and pretended to look out the window at the endless stream of traffic.

"Will you come to Maine with me? It's right by the ocean, and there's a good rehab hospital."

"As long as the doctors say it's okay, I'll go." He nodded. "Leaving New York doesn't worry me. You do. I'm afraid someone will talk you into going back to him."

I promised him I wouldn't.

That evening, I went back to the apartment to get my documents and some of my things. Sophia waited downstairs, and Emily had already arranged for a storage company to take my mother's paintings and jewelry. I'd planned to be out in ten minutes, but when I got to the bedroom door, I heard the familiar sound of a drawer opening and closing.

Claire was standing in front of my display cabinet, wearing a pearl hair comb.

My mother had picked it out herself for my 13th birthday. Later, when she was very sick and couldn't go out much, she'd sit on the edge of the bed and brush my hair. She told me pearls didn't need a fancy gown. I could wear them even with pajamas, as long as I really loved them.

"Take it off and put it back," I said.

Claire looked at me in the mirror, completely relaxed. "Noah said I could pick out a piece of jewelry I liked. This thing can't be worth much, right?"

"I didn't say you could. Take it off."

She took the comb out, then her eyes landed on the old photo album by the bed, and she reached to open it.

"Your mother sure left a lot of stuff behind. No wonder you're so attached to this place."

I closed the album with my good hand. "Don't touch it."

She pulled the album toward her chest instead. As we tugged it back and forth, the comb slipped out of her hand, hit the floor hard, and broke into several pieces.

For a second, I stopped breathing.

Pearls rolled under the bed, and the metal teeth were bent out of shape. My mother had spent a whole afternoon teaching me how to wear that comb. I knew it could never be fixed.

Claire glanced at the pieces. "I can pay you back for it."

When she bent down, I caught a glimpse of a manila envelope tucked inside the album, labeled with the reference number for my mother's birthday video. I was crouched down picking up the scattered pearls, and by the time I looked up, all I saw was a corner of the envelope disappearing into her coat pocket.

"What's going on in here?"

Noah walked into the bedroom. Claire immediately pressed a hand to her chest and leaned against him.

"I just wanted to look at the photo album, and Evelyn got mad again. I really shouldn't have come in here."

Noah steadied her, his eyes sweeping over the broken comb on the floor.

"All this over a comb?"

"It was something my mother left me."

"I'll buy you a new one tomorrow."

I looked up at him. On the day of my mother's funeral, he'd stayed by my side the whole time. He knew exactly how much these things meant to me. But as he looked at the wreckage on the floor, it was clear that to him, it was just something he could replace at the mall.

"Let me ask you something," I said. "If someone destroyed a keepsake your foster parents left you, would you think buying a replacement would make it all okay?"

Noah's face darkened. "That's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"Claire didn't do it on purpose. Stop going after her every time you see her."

Watching him shield Claire behind him, I suddenly didn't want to argue anymore.

"Get out."

"Evelyn—"

"This is my bedroom. Please leave."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he took Claire and walked out. When the door closed, I sat on the cold floor and put the pearls into a box one by one. My wrist throbbed. Sophia came up and helped me gather all the broken pieces.

"Are you taking the photo album too?"

"All of it. Everything that's mine, I'm taking."

I moved into the safe house I'd booked ahead of time, and I never went back to explain myself to Noah. I wasn't giving in. I just didn't want to stand by and watch Claire destroy one more treasure my mother left me.

On the way downstairs, my future self kept staring at my injured right hand.

Her mangled, twisted fingers were slowly straightening out.

"Last time, did they break your hand?" I asked her.

She didn't answer. She just looked down, as if she could finally bear to look at her palm.

Late that night, Emily found a few qualified buyers for the shares and got in touch with a medical center in Maine. She asked if I wanted to take all the property disputes to court now, once and for all.

"The first priority is getting Dad out safely," I said. "I have plenty of time to deal with the rest."

The woman by the wall looked up. The bone-deep despair in her eyes had finally faded.