“Let’s get married. Fast. This weekend.”
“Yes!” she gasped. “Yes, this weekend!”
I watched the woman who wanted my sisters gone throw her arms around my neck, and I held her, and over her shoulder I stared at the dark staircase.
At the top of it, two little girls were sleeping, believing a stranger was about to decide their fate.
And I made my mother a silent promise.
The girls or anyone else.
Every single time.
PART 3
The next morning, I called Margaret and asked to see her alone.
I sat in her office and told her everything, word for word, my hands flat on my knees to keep them steady.
She listened without interrupting, her pen still.
When I finished, she took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes.
“Your mother,” she said quietly, “was right about everything. I used to tell her she was being paranoid.”
Then she opened a drawer and laid the trust documents on the desk between us.
