PART 3
Winter arrived with a sudden,
biting cold,
covering the city in a thick blanket of pristine white snow.
Sabina was enchanted by the weather,
spending hours building crooked snowmen in the front yard,
and demanding hot chocolate with extra marshmallows every afternoon.
I bought her a bright red winter coat,
the kind that made her easy to spot in a crowd,
and wrapped her in thick scarves before letting her outside.
The cold reminded me of my own childhood,
the freezing apartment above the laundromat,
where my mother had taped the windows to keep the draft out.
I had promised myself back then,
that my children would never know the biting ache of real cold,
and standing in my warm,
bright kitchen,
I knew I had kept that promise.
The real estate market slowed down during the winter months,
but my rental properties remained fully occupied,
providing a steady,
uninterrupted stream of income that kept my mind at ease.
Winslow called me one Tuesday morning,
his voice carrying a rare note of hesitation,
which immediately made me stop typing on my laptop.
He informed me that Beatrix's distant cousin had reached out,
inquiring if there was any remaining financial support,
or trust accounts that had been overlooked during the settlement.
I let out a short,
humorless laugh,
realizing that Beatrix had finally exhausted her welcome,
and was now looking for any discarded crumbs I might have left behind.
I told Winslow to send a formal,
one-line response,
stating that all financial obligations had been completely severed,
and to refuse any further communication on the matter.
It was a harsh decision,
but I had learned the hard way that toxic people,
will drown you if you offer them even a single finger to hold on to.
I hung up the phone and walked into the living room,
where Sabina was watching a cartoon about talking animals,
her small face illuminated by the glow of the screen.
I sat beside her on the comfortable,
worn sofa,
and she immediately climbed into my lap,
wrapping her arms around my neck and resting her head on my chest.
This was the only investment that truly mattered,
the only legacy I cared about protecting,
and I would defend it with every resource I possessed.
Later that week,
Thatcher asked for an extra hour during his Saturday visit,
explaining that he wanted to take Sabina to a winter festival,
to see the ice sculptures and ride the Ferris wheel.
I reviewed the request through our parenting app,
considering his recent track record of absolute consistency,
and decided to grant the extension with clear boundaries.
He brought her back exactly on time,
her cheeks flushed with cold and happiness,
and she held a small,
glittering snow globe in her mittened hands.
Thatcher looked at me from the bottom of the porch steps,
his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his coat,
and offered a quiet,
sincere thank you before turning to walk away.
I watched him leave,
feeling a strange absence of the old,
familiar anger,
May you like
replaced only by a cold,
objective clarity.
