Chapter 3 - THE HOUSE WITH TOO MANY LOCKS
Dominic did not take me “home.”
Not immediately.
He called lawyers.
A judge.
A child welfare specialist.
A woman named Dr. Monroe who asked me questions about whether I wanted to spend time with Dominic.
Nobody had ever asked what I wanted so many times in one day.
It was strange.
I liked it.
Dominic stayed nearby while adults talked.
He never told me what to say.
When Dr. Monroe asked:
“Do you know who Mr. Moretti is?”
I said:
“He’s my mommy’s brother.”
Dominic looked away.
When she asked:
“Do you want to leave St. Jude’s with him today?”
I thought about my room.
My drawings.
Mr. Bear.
My friend Lucy.
Then Dominic.
“Can I come back if I don’t like his house?”
Everyone became very still.
Dominic answered first.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Can I bring Mr. Bear?”
“Yes.”
“My butterfly drawings?”
“All of them.”
“Can Lucy visit?”
“If her guardian agrees.”
I nodded.
“Then okay.”
Temporary kinship placement.
That was what the adults called it.
Not adoption.
Not yet.
Choice first.
Dominic’s house was not a house.
It was a fortress pretending to be a mansion.
Stone walls.
Security gates.
Men with earpieces.
A marble staircase wide enough for ten people.
I looked up.
“No elevator?”
Dominic froze.
His face changed immediately.
There was an elevator.
But the main entrance route had three steps before it.
Nobody had noticed.
Dominic looked furious.
I tensed.
Then he stopped himself.
“Lily.”
“Yes?”
“I’m not angry with you.”
“I know.”
He looked surprised.
“You’re angry at the stairs.”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“That makes sense.”
By dinner, workers were measuring the entrance.
Dominic’s staff wanted to carry me.
I said no.
He backed me.
“We change the house, not Lily.”
I remembered those words.
The bedroom prepared for me had pink walls.
Too pink.
“Do you like it?” Dominic asked.
“No.”
Everyone froze.
I pointed.
“Too much pink.”
“What color?”
“Blue. And yellow stars.”
Dominic looked at the decorator.
“Blue. Yellow stars.”
The woman nodded like her life depended on it.
I giggled.
Then I noticed a photograph on the dresser.
Sofia.
My mother.
Younger.
Smiling.
I touched the frame.
“She looks happy.”
Dominic stood in the doorway.
“She was.”
“Did you love her?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t she tell you about me?”
He took a long time.
“Maybe she was afraid of what being a Moretti would mean for you.”
I looked around at the guards.
The cameras.
The locked windows.
“I think I get it.”
That hurt him.
I could tell.
That night, I woke because voices were arguing downstairs.
Victor.
I recognized the name before I recognized the man.
“I have equal blood claim!”
Dominic’s voice came low.
“She is not property.”
“She is sixty-two million dollars sitting in a wheelchair!”
Silence.
Then Dominic said:
“Say that about her again.”
The house became very quiet.
Victor laughed.
“See? This is why Sofia ran.”
I rolled toward the balcony rail.
Then Victor said something that made Dominic stop breathing.
“You still think Sofia died in that crash?”
My hands tightened on my wheels.
May you like
Victor continued:
“She survived.”
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