Page 9

CHAPTER NINE

O utside the frosted window, the snow had slowed to a gentle drift, flakes settling softly like secrets too heavy to stay in the sky. Inside, the silence buzzed like static in her ears.

Birdy sat behind her desk, her back straight, shoulders locked into the kind of posture that said, You will not break me . But the screen in front of her was doing its best to try. Her laptop still sat open to the chat window.

The strong don’t show up to be heroes. They show up because someone has to.

She hadn’t closed the browser. She couldn’t. It was like some part of her still clung to the idea that he might reappear, that the words on the screen could overwrite what he’d said—what he really thought of her.

You can’t be her.

The words echoed like footsteps down a long, empty hallway in her chest. She’d heard variations of that her whole life, hadn’t she? Too much. Too blunt. Too smart. Too sharp.

Too everything.

“Objection,” Hearsay insisted.

“Thanks, buddy.”

The bird ducked his head a couple of times, ruffled his feathers like he was still stewing about being ignored, then grabbed a sunflower seed shell in his beak and flung it with precision into the corner of his cage.

He fluffed up, muttered something unintelligible, and stabbed his beak into the bottom of his seed bowl like he meant to break through it.

Birdy watched the little tantrum with narrowed eyes. “Yeah, I feel that.”

A fresh surge of heat bloomed behind her ribs.

Revenge. She could bury him in filings. Drown him in legal briefs and procedures so thick he’d never crawl out.

She could cite every clause, every loophole, every precedent that would make him choke on his smug assumptions.

She could show him exactly how dangerous a woman like her could be when she was underestimated.

With one final breath through her nose, she clicked the little X in the corner of the chat window and watched the screen go blank.

A knock came at the door. It creaked open behind her.

“What was that?” came Bunny’s voice, soft but laced with big-sister bite.

“What was what?”

Bunny stepped into the office, pulling the door shut behind her. She crossed the room and leaned against the bookshelf, arms folded.

“At the mayor’s office. You and the social worker. You two looked like you were in a Telenovela.”

Birdy gave a dry huff. “I hardly know him.”

Bunny did the annoying older sister thing where she simply crossed her arms and waited.

“He helped me fill out a form.”

Bunny raised an eyebrow. “Must’ve been a very important form.”

Birdy did the annoying middle sister thing and didn’t answer. Instead, she moved toward the electric kettle and poured hot water into a mug like it gave her something else to feel besides humiliated.

But Birdy wasn't good at this game, the one where she kept secrets from her sisters. “We met online.”

“Like on a dating app?”

“No. On a government forms app.”

“Well… that's a new way to date.”

“We're not dating.”

But I'll take your number down in case I decide to get wild in the next chat room.

“He called me difficult. Intimidating. Said I wasn’t who he thought I was. He got a glimpse behind the armor and ran the other way. So… lesson learned.”

There was a beat of silence behind her.

“He didn’t run,” Bunny said softly. “He flinched. And that’s different.”

Birdy turned back, mug in hand, steam rising between them like a fog. “Same result either way. I’m done hoping people will like me better once they get to know me. They never do.”

Bunny stepped forward like she might say more—but then stopped. Her big sister knew Birdy inside and out. Knew her looks, her huffs. She knew that tone. Knew when Birdy’s defenses had locked into place like a vault door.

Bunny gave a small nod, reached out, and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Okay. But just so you know—he didn’t look like someone who hated what he saw. He looked like someone who saw something real and didn’t know what to do with it.”

Birdy didn’t reply. What more could she say? The evidence was right there in front of her. Or rather, the lack of it was. Paul hadn't come to apologize or explain or… anything.

After a few more hand squeezes and hugs and ‘his losses’ from Bunny, her sister let herself out. Birdy stood alone in the quiet again, the mug warm in her palms, the silence loud with the words she couldn’t say. She wasn’t going to let herself fall again. Not for anyone.

Just as she was about to settle back in her chair, she heard another knock on the door. Where was Trudi? Looked like her first line of defense was taking a long lunch.

The knock came again. It was too light to be anything but a teenager’s. The client. The reason this mattered.

“Come in,” Birdy said gently.

They sat across from each other, the distance between them smaller than before but still edged with silence. Birdy inhaled slowly, then let it out. Beverly did the same, except she held her breath a moment too long.

“If I’m going to help you,” Birdy said, her voice quieter than usual, “I need the truth. About the father. About why you’re really doing this.”

Beverly stared at her hands. Her fingers twisted the zipper pull of her coat. The silence stretched. Birdy softened her voice even more, dropping all pretense of courtroom steel.

“You’re not the only one who thought love was supposed to mean something.”

At that, Beverly’s chin trembled. Her breath hitched once before the tears spilled over. No sound, just tears. Silent and endless.

Birdy didn’t move. She didn’t reach across the desk.

Didn’t offer a hug or tissues or a ‘his loss.’ What she did was stayed present.

And waited. Because Paul Winters was right about one thing: Birdy didn't have to show up.

But she did because she was strong when other people were not.

If Birdy couldn't have a hero of her own, she wasn’t going to let anything or anyone stop her from being this girl and her baby's savior.