Page 5

CHAPTER FIVE

T he storm had passed, leaving behind a glittering crust of snow that clung to rooftops and softened the edges of the town.

Birdy’s boots crunched over the walkway as she made her way up the front steps of her grandmother’s house.

Meiying Chou's three-story was the kind of creaky old bungalow that always smelled like ginger, black tea, and freshly laundered curtains.

Inside, the warmth was immediate and welcoming.

A kettle hissed on the stove. Faint strains of a radio drama played from the kitchen.

The actors spoke in N?inai's native tongue.

Birdy had learned Chinese, like all her siblings and cousins.

But they'd fallen out of practice over the years. Birdy especially.

Her K-drama obsession hadn’t helped—too much swooning in Hangul, not enough Mandarin or Cantonese. She furrowed her brow, trying to follow along with the radio drama, but the words twisted in her brain. Was the heroine proclaiming her undying love or announcing she’d poisoned someone’s soup?

Birdy winced as the actors started shouting. Probably the soup.

“Birdy, close the door. You’ll let the cold in with your opinions.”

Birdy smiled in spite of herself. She pulled the door shut and slipped off her coat, draping it over the back of a chair as she stepped into the kitchen.

Her grandmother came into the room, all five feet of her wrapped in a quilted vest over a thick floral blouse. Her silver hair was twisted into its usual bun, and her bright eyes crinkled as she reached for a steaming pot of tea.

“I brought your will,” Birdy said, tapping the folder she’d tucked under her arm.

“I brought almond cookies,” N?inai replied. “One of us has our priorities straight.”

They sat at the little table by the window, the world outside cast in morning light and snowdrifts. Birdy flipped open the folder and began explaining a few updates, pointing out the necessary initials, the phrasing around estate transfer.

“I’ve left space here,” she said, tapping a clause, “if you want to put in one of those legacy conditions, like Yéyé did. You know—about your grandchildren getting married before they can inherit.”

“It worked, didn't it?” N?inai snorted softly into her cup. “All my granddaughters are either engaged or married. Except you.”

“That's right. I’m the last holdout.” And she had every intention of staying that way. Birdy's life was exactly as she liked it.

Her law practice was thriving. Her name was spoken with a mixture of respect and wariness around town.

She had her sisters, her cases, her sense of justice.

Her bed stayed made. Her fridge stayed organized.

She didn’t have to negotiate her schedule or share her pillows or make space for someone else’s toothpaste in her medicine cabinet.

Marriage? That was chaos. A man would come in with all his needs—emotional, physical, psychological—and expect her to bend. To pour energy into bolstering his ego, supporting his dreams, softening her edges.

No, thank you.

She’d worked too hard to become the woman she was. Letting someone in would mean dimming her light just to survive the strain of compromise. And for what? For date nights she didn’t have time for or arguments over who left dishes in the sink?

No, her peace came from being alone. Her power came from never having to explain herself.

Uninvited thoughts drifted to the guy on the chat. He'd been a voice behind a screen. A government employee with a dry humor and a patient keyboard. He hadn’t asked her to bend. He’d met her energy, word for word.

Birdy shook her head and reached for her teacup. It had just been a conversation. A flicker of connection in the cold. Nothing worth rewriting her entire worldview over.

So how come she hadn’t closed the now defunct chat tab?

“You’ve always been the strongest,” her grandmother was saying. “But strong girls still need love.”

“I have love,” Birdy said. “I have my sisters. I have my cousins. I have you.”

N?inai gave her a look—one of those wise, not-buying-it looks that only grandmothers and Buddhist monks could master. “You need a man in your life.”

Birdy rolled her eyes. “I am financially secure. I can take out my own trash and change my own oil. What do I need a man for?”

Her grandmother waved a hand. “Not for the money. Not for the chores. For the emotions. You’ve always been too hard around the edges. You need someone you can be soft with.”

Birdy opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because she had been soft with the government agent. She’d let herself be vulnerable. But that didn’t count, right? It was anonymous. Safe. He couldn’t see her, didn’t know what she looked like, how tall she stood, how quick she was to speak her mind.

He didn’t know how many men had flinched from her brightness—how many had told her she was “too much” when all she’d done was be herself. He wouldn’t like her in real life. He’d back off. Just like all the others. She sipped her tea to chase the thought away.

N?inai, clearly sensing her mood, leaned back in her chair and said casually, “Did you hear Bunny and the mayor have a baby now?”

Birdy blinked. “What?”

“Someone left a baby on the doorstep of the mayor’s office during the storm. Whole town is talking about it. Of course, people think it’s theirs. You know how people are.”

Birdy sat straighter. Her legal instincts sharpened instantly. A baby. Abandoned. During the storm.

Could it be…?

Out the window, the world was still and quiet, like the snow had hushed the town into holding its breath. If it was her client’s baby, things were about to get a lot more complicated.