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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T he winter sun gleamed off the white stone, lighting up the doorway where Birdy's life was about to change. Where her life was about to begin.

The structure stood firm and proud, all sharp lines and right angles, its red-brick exterior unapologetically solid. No frills. No softness. Just strength.

Birdy had always admired buildings like this—sturdy, practical, built to last. She’d shaped her life the same way.

Edges clean. Corners sharp. Foundation unshakable.

But just like the courthouse, beneath her rigid exterior was something more vital—purpose.

Shelter. Protection for those who needed it most.

She paused at the foot of the stairs, her breath rising in small clouds around her. Her heart was pounding. Not from nerves—she’d stood in plenty of courtrooms and never blinked—but from anticipation.

She clutched the soft folds of her dress tighter around her, heart fluttering in her chest like a startled sparrow. She wasn’t used to feeling like this—giddy. Light. A little breathless, like she’d caught a lucky gust of wind and was half-flying.

Her sisters’ laughter floated around her. Bunny was teasing Kitty, who was balancing Beverly’s diaper bag and a bouquet at the same time. Beverly, holding her baby tightly against her chest, smiled shyly up at Birdy, as if offering silent encouragement.

Birdy’s gaze skipped ahead—and then locked on to him. Paul. He stood by the courthouse door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He looked so solid and sure against the sweep of white behind him.

“Go on ahead,” Birdy told her sisters.

“I thought it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” said Bunny.

Birdy ignored her baby sister. Although maybe she shouldn't have. Kitty had walked hand in hand with her bridegroom to this same courthouse years ago, and look where it had gotten her.

But this was Paul. Paul was here, and he was steady, and he didn't shrink—from her. He kept communication lines open, even when they were arguing—especially when they were arguing. Paul would not let her down.

Birdy crossed the snowy sidewalk, heart thundering. Paul turned at her approach, and his face lit up. Lit up in a way that seared itself into her memory. Like she was the only thing in the world he wanted to look at.

Something cracked open inside her. Wide and tender.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t brace herself.

She didn't hold anything back. Birdy launched herself into Paul's arms, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Her mouth found his in a kiss that tasted like hope and snowflakes and everything she thought she might never have.

Paul froze for all of half a second. Then he kissed her back.

His arms locked around her like a shelter.

His hands pulled her in. His mouth deepened the kiss until Birdy felt it in her knees, in her spine, in her very soul.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard.

“I want to marry you,” he insisted. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Birdy’s heart stopped. Then kicked. Then soared—wild, giddy, unmoored. The words hit her like warm sunlight cracking through storm clouds. Her breath caught, the world around her blurring, collapsing inward to just him. His eyes were steady and sincere, his voice low and sure.

Something in her cracked open. She could see it—just for a second—the life they might build together. The stolen kisses in the kitchen. The quiet strength of his hand in hers in a courtroom. Laughter. Safety. A home. Love.

Then he kept talking. And the moment splintered.

“But we can’t move forward with the guardianship for Beverly.”

Birdy blinked, the words not quite computing. “What?”

Paul stepped back. His hands remained on her waist, as though fearful that she might bolt if he let her go. “I found a placement for Beverly. At a girls’ home. They’ll take Beverly and the baby. She’ll be safe. Cared for. But she’ll have to share custody with Zeke.”

The world tilted. The solid courthouse. The shoveled snow. Paul's steady hands.

Birdy took a step back from him, feeling her foundations rock beneath her feet. But she didn't crumble. She held herself together with the force of sheer will.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would we do that to her? Why are you suggesting this?”

“I have to think about what’s best for everyone involved.”

“We are what’s best for them. You. Me. A real family.”

Paul nodded slowly. Almost sadly. “I know,” he said. “But I have to think about more than just Beverly and the baby. I had to think about you, too. About your business. Your future.”

“My business? What does my business have to do with anything?”

Paul pursed his lips, like he was searching for the words to explain to her. Was he about to mansplain something to her? About her business?

Suddenly, she did not want to hear another word from him. No matter what those words might be. It didn't matter that he still wanted to marry her. He was changing the rules. Without consulting her.

“I just want to protect you, Birdy.”

Birdy reared back like he’d slapped her. There it was. Exactly what she’d known all along.

The fire that had been building inside her, banked and barely controlled for days, exploded. “You think I need protecting from my own life?” she hissed. “From the business I built with my own hands?”

Paul opened his mouth to respond, but Birdy wasn’t done.

“You think you get to decide what's best for me? Because you’re afraid I might fly too high and you can't keep up?”

Her hands trembled, but her voice never wavered. She stared him down, heart pounding.

“This is the plan, Paul. This is what we're doing. Either you marry me right now or I’ll find someone else who will.”

“You don't understand?—”

“Don't tell me what I do or do not understand!”

Paul’s eyes widened, a thousand emotions flickering across his face.

Birdy didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t back down.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she have thought he was different? Men didn’t want women like her. Not really.

They said they did—until it got messy. Until it got real. Until her ambition and dreams and sharp edges became inconvenient.

But it wouldn't this time. She wouldn't change herself to fit what he wanted her to be. Because this time—this time—she was choosing herself. Even if it broke her heart.