Chapter Nineteen

The living room was a battlefield of birthday aftermath. The last of the kids had just gone home.

Half-eaten cupcakes littered the coffee table. Wrapping paper was crammed into a paper bag by the door. Streamers hung lopsided across the ceiling like exhausted confetti soldiers. Glitter sparkled in the seams of the hardwood, and someone had definitely stepped in jam.

The birthday girl, radiant with sugar and chaos, sat cross-legged on the rug, the remains of Rainbow Castle behind her. She wore a yellow tutu over her pajama pants, a superhero cape fashioned from a dishtowel, and the cardboard crown from her cupcake toppers. Her curls had long since broken free of their puffs. A stripe of purple marker ran down her cheek like war paint.

Bun Bun was tucked under one arm—the one with the matted ears and the bow that had been retied so many times it barely qualified as a knot. Today, he was playing Royal Advisor and Toast Inspector.

Sam surveyed her kingdom with regal satisfaction. “We ran out of glitter,” she announced. “But it’s okay. We used raisins instead.”

“Well,” I said from the couch, “that’s a creative trade deal.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It’s a glitter emergency, Auntie Allison.”

I put a hand over my heart. “Forgive me. I’ll notify the dragon council immediately.”

She gave a very serious nod and turned back to her tower.

I let the warmth of the room settle into my bones. My tea was cold, my legs were cramping, and I didn’t care. For the first time in months—longer—I felt something that might’ve been joy. Not the wild kind, or the borrowed kind. Just the quiet, steady kind. The kind that came from having made it through.

The party had been small. Local. Safe. A handful of kids from Sam’s preschool, two moms I didn’t hate, one neighbor who brought gluten-free cookies and offered unsolicited tax advice. But it wasn’t just a birthday party.

It was a victory lap.

Custody was final. No appeals. No loose ends.

Just a single word: granted.

Naveen and his lawyers hadn’t shown up.

That helps cement the win as a collapse, not just a forfeiture.

And for the first time since Sam had come into my life, I could breathe.

She was four now—really four. All imagination and rules that changed mid-sentence. She told stories that went in circles. Named every bruise on her knees. Declared herself allergic to bedtime. And for all the strangeness she’d been born into—for all the danger and courtrooms and things she’d never understand—she was still this: a kid on the floor, stacking blocks and assigning royal titles to stuffed animals.

No invasive magic. No scary drawings. No shadows in her eyes. Just Sam.

She let out a dramatic sigh and flopped backwards onto the floor. “Bun Bun says he’s tired of fighting glitter wars. He wants a waffle break.”

“I hear waffles build strong fort walls.”

“That’s science,” she agreed solemnly, and rolled out of view.

I smiled and leaned back against the cushions. The house smelled like syrup and lemon disinfectant. The dishwasher hummed. My feet ached. But I felt lighter than I had in years.

Something had lifted.

I didn’t know what, exactly—not the how of it. I didn’t understand the spell Naveen had used, or the grip he’d kept me in, but I knew what it had done. Bent me. Weakened me. Wrapped around my choices like fog.

Now it was gone.

I felt taller. More solid. Like my bones belonged to me again.

Earlier, Bianca had stopped by at the party. She only stayed for a few minutes. First time I’d seen her in months. She brought Sam a stack of picture books and a stuffed sloth wearing sunglasses. When she saw me, she froze, awkward. Just for a second. Then we hugged—tight, like neither of us wanted to be the first to let go. I cried. She said, "You look like hell," and I said, "Let’s get lunch soon. I’ll tell you everything."

And she said, " I’d like that. I miss you. Call me."

I watched Sam disappear into the kitchen with a stomp and a battle cry. “Snack time!” she shouted. “We’re making toast swords!”

The clock blinked 2:14, and for the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for it to run out.

There would be more battles. That much I knew. But this one was over. And I’d won.

I’d promised to keep Sam safe. I would. Even if she never knew how close she came to being someone else's trophy. Even if the world kept reaching for her.

Tomorrow, I’d go to the care facility. See Ziya.

I’d already tried once—waited until the court filing was finalized, then gone in quietly, held her hand, whispered her name, let the magic crawl across my palm like a question. But nothing had happened. No stir of breath. No flicker of soul. Just stillness.

I didn’t know what I’d expected. Some great unveiling? A miracle?

Instead, there was just Ziya. Sleeping and silent. Neither healing nor fading.

And I still loved her. Even in that stillness.

Even if waking her meant losing Sam, I wouldn’t have stopped myself. I loved them both. But this wasn’t about me saving anyone anymore. It was about showing up.

I picked up my phone. Dialed the number I’d been calling for weeks. It went to voicemail, like it always did.

I started talking.

“Hi Meg. It’s me. Again.

You probably won’t listen to this. But I have to say it to someone, and you’re the only person I know who’ll understand.

I died. On the floor of my kitchen.

Someone tried to kill me. Long story. I’ll tell you later.

There was blood. I remember the color of the grout. I remember thinking, this is it. That I wasn’t getting back up.

I wasn’t afraid of dying. I was afraid of abandoning Sam. And I was afraid of breaking my promise to Hugh. My husband. I’ve told you about him before.

I thought if I broke my promise, it would mean I didn’t love him. That I wasn’t a good wife. That I’d vanish, or snap, or become something… corrupted.

Hugh said I would.

He had pancreatic cancer. I don’t think I’ve told you that. It was… awful, Meg. Watching him waste away like that. I wanted to heal him.

He refused. Said it was selfish. Unnatural. Not of God. That God was calling him and who was I to deny God? And if I did, God would never forgive me.

So he made me promise. That I’d never use magic again. Not for anyone. Not even me. He said I could deny it. Turn it off. And it would go away.

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—watching him die, knowing I could stop it. We had so many plans. Travel. Children. That part of me, who dreamed about a future, died with him.

He was wrong, Meg. About all of it.

I can’t just turn it off. It doesn’t just go away.

And I don’t feel corrupted. I feel… awake. Like I’d been underwater for years and finally came up for air.

Diana always said the truth was the most important thing. That lies rot us from the inside out. So here’s mine: I don’t want to keep pretending. I’m a mother. That’s who I am now.

I stared at the screen.

Meg wasn’t listening to these anyway. I could’ve been sending messages to some stranger in North Carolina for all I knew

Delete this message?

Yes.

From the kitchen, Sam called out, “Bun Bun says the toast is on fire!”

I pushed myself off the couch and headed into the chaos.

“Tell him I’ve got it,” I said. “Nobody’s burning anything today.”