Chapter Three: Home Run

I remember the day that I met my mother; so long ago now, it seems. There I was, lying there as I was lying now, in a fetal position on my side on a stretcher. I recalled that it was a cool day, overcast, but I wore no winter coat—a testament of my mother's neglect of me.

"Hi, I'm Maggie," my mother had told gently. "What's your name?"

"Edythe," I said quietly. "With a 'Y', not an 'I'."

"Well, that's a very pretty name," she tells her. "How old are you?"

"Seven," I say.

"Wow, you're a very big girl," she tells me with a smile. "How are you doing?" I remembered that she took in my injuries, her face visibly contorting at what I'd looked like.

"Okay... My head hurts," I said quietly, reaching upwards to touch it.

"No, Edythe, you can't touch it," she tells me gently. "You could get an infection if you touch it—you wouldn't want that, would you?"

I nod, biting my lip, attempting to be brave. "Would you hold my hand, please?" I ask, tears welling in my silver eyes.

She nods, smiling at me. "Of course," she says, reaching out and taking my hand, a kind look in her eyes. "Better?" she asked.

I gave a tiny nod. "Yes."

She gave me an encouraging smile. "Good. We want you to be comfortable."

I lower my eyes. "My mommy was hurt," I say softly.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm sorry, Edythe, really..."

"She went through the windshield," I whispered. "Glass went everywhere... I got scared, so I crouched behind the seat... Glass is dangerous..."

She nodded down at me. "That's right. You could get serious cuts." She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Was your mommy driving the car?"

I shook my head. "Jake was driving," I reply.

"Who's Jake, then?" she asks.

I remembered the feeling in the pit of my stomach when I was asked about Jake directly. "Mommy's boyfriend," I'd replied, suddenly not making eye contact with her and picking the side of the canvas on the stretcher; there is a loose thread there, and I would do anything and everything to appear interested in it. "He does bad things..."

"What kind of bad things?" she asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know..."

"Does he call you bad names?" she asked me.

I sighed, then say, "Yes."

She nodded. "What kind of bad names does he call you?"

"He calls me 'stupid'," I replied. "That's not nice, is it?" I ask, looking up at her in a moment of fear.

My mother shook her head. "No, sweetheart, that's not nice. Does Jake ever call you any other bad names?"

I sighed. "He called me a 'bitch' once," I say, whispering the offending word, almost as if she'll offend by me saying it. "That was before he slammed my head down on the floor."

She nearly pulled away from me in shock. "What did Mommy do when he did that?" she asked me.

"She laughed, said it was a game," I told her.

She bit her lip. "Is that all Jake ever did to you?"

I shake my head. "No."

"What else did he do?" I sighed. "He started putting his hand down there, back when it was close to Halloween. I tried to tell him that I'd tell Mommy, but he said that she wouldn't believe me. I got scared, so I stayed quiet."

"Is that all Jake did?" she managed to get out.

"No." I shake my head. "He took out his thingy once and told me that it would taste good if I put it in here," I said, pointing to my mouth. "Then when I wouldn't do it, he forced it in me, so I bite it. Blood went everywhere, and I got scared again. Then he took off my pants and put it inside me, between my legs, and it hurt... There was more blood too, and he got madder..."

"Was that the only time Jake hurt you like that?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "No."

"When did he start doing that?"

"Before Christmas, after Thanksgiving," I replied. "I know it was December because Mommy changed the calendar in my bedroom."

She nodded, processing the information. Then, she turned around, making eye contact with people I couldn't see, since I was lying down, before turning back around to face me. "I have to leave you now, Edythe," she says softly. "But some nice people are going to talk to you, okay?"

"No!" I'd screamed, pulling away from the doctors and throwing my arms around her as Olivia and Detective Stabler stepped closer.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked in alarm as the two detectives come up behind her. "Are you okay?"

"He'll do it, like Jake," I said, nodding at Detective Stabler.

Olivia stepped in. "Well, why don't I sit with you while Maggie goes and talks to Elliot?" she asks, giving my mother an understanding smile.

"Olivia's really nice," my mother said, consolingly, me. "I promise."

"Is she your friend?" I asked, regarding Olivia warily.

"I... Well," she says, thrown.

"Yes. We are friends," Olivia assures me, shooting me a smile and going over to be with me. "Go on with Elliot," she says softly to my mother, and I watch as my mother slips away as Olivia asks me what my favorite color is.

I decide that I can't lie in bed all that day, so I force myself out of there at around ten-thirty. I go to take a shower and consider what to do, and decide to go to my mother's office and see if she'll go to lunch with me. A wonderful drive is just what I need to take my mind off things, I reason with myself as I return to my bedroom—having washing and blow-dried my hair—and go about selecting an outfit. I go with a white scoop-neck sweater, a black mini skirt, tights, ankle boots, and pick out a purse from my growing collection that my mother insists that any teenage girl should have.

I drive across town, the freeway not nearly as clogged now as it would be in six hours, and decide to do some shopping if my mother doesn't want to or can't have lunch with me, or I'll go shopping afterwards. I arrive in the city and park on the street, securing my car and feeding the meter for about three hours just in case I get into some heavy shopping that afternoon. The clock is ticking towards noon as I head up the steps of the homicide building, giving my name to the woman at the front desk, who gives me the 'okay' to go upstairs.

I greet the detectives and other officers that I know in my mother's squad before I cross the office and tap on her door.

"Come in!" I hear my mother call on the other side. "Edythe!" she said as I came in and quickly smiled at her. "What's going on?"

"I've come to take you to lunch—and no, I won't take no for an answer," I tell her in a firm voice, giving a cursory glance at the mountain of paperwork.

"Sounds great," she says, lowering her pen automatically and getting to her feet and gathering her coat before following me out.

"Where should we go?" I ask her as we step into the coolness of the afternoon and proceed to walk down the street.

"There's this Italian café close by," she suggests. "How about there?"

The heat picks up as we walk down the street, and, after ordering, we decide to eat our panini sandwiches outside.

"You look like a wreck," I tell my mother blithely, biting into my steak and cheddar panini. "What happened?"

She sighed. "Olivia came to see me today."

"When's the last time you saw her?" I ask. My mother lowered her chicken pesto panini onto her plate. "Over a year ago," she replies, regret filling her tone completely. "I went to family court that day to check on the Noah Porter case and the judge asked Olivia if she wanted to be his foster mother..."

"Yeah, I remember now," I say, smiling at her sympathetically. "Why did she want to see you today?"

She sighed. "She's going to be adopting Noah."

I nearly choke on my sandwich. "When?"

"Soon, I think. It wasn't a particularly long conversation."

I nod, taking another bite of her sandwich when I can breathe properly again and swallow. "And you're upset because you thought that she didn't want kids, which is why she put you up for adoption, and now you're feeling left out?"

"I understand her decision to put me up for adoption," my mother says. "It couldn't have been an easy choice for anyone—let alone a girl in college," she says in a moment of sympathy for her biological mother. "But, of course I'm upset. All I ever wanted was to be able to tell her the truth, but it's not that simple."

I purse my lips, wondering if Olivia would ever let on that I'd already told her this information. "What's not so simple? It's a secret you've held onto for four years—that's all it is."

"Four years?" my mother asks, laughing. "Sometimes I forget that I'm nearing thirty..."

"M-om! This is serious," I say, growing impatient. "Nobody is stopping you except yourself. Just tell her. I know it's killing you not to," I say, playing it off, almost as if I wasn't a guilty party here at all.

I remain in the city for the rest of the day, shopping and behaving like any normal seventeen-year-old sophomore in college would. I call Gina before dinner and we decide to hit a club later that night. I go over to her house, armed with all my purchases from that afternoon, and fish through the bags until I come upon the club dresses I'd picked out for the two of us. Mine was a silver sparkly number, totally strapless, and it came up about half an inch lower than my crotch. I could tell that Gina was thrown off due to my bold choice, and felt secure when I presented a black dress for her with spaghetti straps, about an inch above the knee.

I got into Gina's car and we drove up and down the Upper East Side, looking and looking for an under-twenty-one club. It was called Viola and we handed our keys to the valet, presenting our ID's to ensure we weren't of age and stepped inside. It was only eight o'clock, but the place was already hopping—there was a pumping beat on the dance floor, and you had to get a two-drink minimum at the bar which served virgin cocktails. I asked for a virgin Appletini while Gina opted for a virgin Pina Colada, while we sipped and looked at the dance floor.

By the time I was only my second drink—a virgin Cosmo to Gina's virgin Sex on the Beach—we were swaying to the beat. The club only played eighties music, so I knew practically every song that came on. Bowie, Madonna, Queen, Joan Jett—it was an eclectic mix that surged through my sober veins. Finally, after dancing for nearly an hour—all hyped up on the sugar in my drinks, I left Gina on the dance floor and checked my phone.

There was a missed call from Olivia, and I wondered what she could have wanted from me. I found a quiet corner of the back hallway—away from the line for the bathroom—and dialed her number. "Olivia?" I asked.

"Hey, Edythe. Where are you? I hear club music..."

"Thanks, Grandma, I'm fine," I say, annoyed that she was butting-in. "How are you doing?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says, "very funny. Other than the cat being out of the bag, Edythe, in all seriousness—are you at a bar right now?"

"No, I'm at Viola, and under-twenty-one club," I reply, growing hostile at her gall to interfere with my life. "And what do you mean, the cat's out of the bag? What are you talking about?"

"Your mother came here tonight and told me," Olivia replied levelly, "told me everything, as a matter of fact. Showed me the DNA results and everything, so I am your grandmother, Edythe—legally speaking."

I shuffle from foot to foot. "She's not going to tell anyone else, is she?" I ask her then, knowing my mother so well, including her inability to be a knowing homewrecker.

"That's right," Olivia replies. "We—well, she, really—told me that she wouldn't go running around and telling people about it. Things are going to stay as they are, Edythe."

"So, no calling you for favors?" I joke.

She laughs. "Very funny. Enjoy your time at the club," she says.

"Have fun with Noah," I reply, ending the call.

I get home later that evening and discover that my mother is not home yet, and my father is in the twilight reading. I go around the house where his favorite spot is and see that he is nose-deep in whatever book he's reading, although I'd be willing to bet that it is true crime. I see the three different baby monitors next to him and know full well that he's let Helena leave early again that night.

"Hey, Daddy!" I say, walking up to him and kissing him on the cheek.

He turns and looks at me. "Hey, sweetheart," he says, patting the chair next to him as he marks the place in his book. "Please tell me you kept the leather jacket on the entire time," he says, looking me up and down.

"Sorry, 'fraid not," I reply. "The club I was in got awfully stuffy and I had to take it off. Before you say anything, it was an under-twenty-one club and I only talked to guys who had green stamps."

"Green stamps?" Dad asks. "I don't understand."

"There's a color-coded stamp system," I reply, putting my feet up on the lawn chair and crossing my fingers that my feet wouldn't swell due to all the dancing I'd done in my new heels. "Green stamps mean you're sixteen through seventeen, and eighteen through twenty? That means you get a red stamp."

"Oh," my dad says. "Still lost."

"It's a way to prevent sexual assault," I reply innocently. "That way, girls can protect themselves."

"Sounds reasonable," Dad replies, looking over my bags. "Did you get anything that you could wear say, out of a club?"

I laugh. "Of course, Daddy," I reply, "never fear. I also picked this out for you," I say, delving into one of the bags and producing a box. "Here."

Dad smiles and takes the lid off the box, his eyes widening at its contents. "Honey, this is beautiful!" he exclaims, taking out the golden pocket watch. "Where did you find this?"

"At a department store in Downtown Manhattan," I reply. "Do you like it, or I could always exchange it for something else. They had them in silver..."

Dad immediately shakes his head and pulls me into a hug. "No, honey, I love it—don't you dare exchange it, you hear me?"

I nod. "Sure, Daddy, fine..."

"Good." He pulls back and proceeds to tinker with it.

"Dad?" I ask him.

"Yeah, honey?"

"What do you think of tattoos?"

He shrugs. "If they have significant meaning to them..." He shrugs again. "Doesn't really matter to me..."

"Can I get one?"

"When you turn eighteen," he replies, shooting me a smile.

I excuse myself and head to my bedroom, taking off my new dress and putting it into the box full of clothes that need to be dry cleaned. Then I go into my en suite bathroom and take a shower, taking off my makeup as well before getting out of there. I put on a tank top and shorts, for it is still a warm night, when I suddenly get a text from my mother, letting me know that she is on her way home. She tells me that she has a surprise for me and not to tell her Dad, the twins, or Mason, but to come directly outside to meet her.

I immediately leave my bedroom, phone in hand, and make my way down the hallway before going down the front stairs. I get down them easily, walking to the front door and opening it quickly, easing outside before walking along the side of the house towards the garage. I am standing there waiting for her in the late afternoon sunlight as she pulls up. I watch as she exits her vehicle quickly after parking the car and I smile at her as she waves, ducking into the back, retrieving a puppy, handing the enthusiastic fluff ball over to me.

"M-om!" I squeal, taking the puppy immediately. "For me?!"

She nods. "All for you," she replies, taking a second pup out of the back.

"Wait... You got a dog, too?!"

She laughs. "Well, yes. And besides, these two love each other—it would have been cruel to separate them."

"Do they have names?" I ask as the puppy snuggles into my arms.

"No," she replies. "You can name her yourself."

"It's a girl?" I ask.

Mom laughs. "Yes, and this is her sister."

"What's going on down here?" Dad asks, walking around the side of the house where he was reading. "Maggie. What's that?" he asks.

"These are the new members of the Grayson family," Mom replies effortlessly with a small laugh. "That's... Someone, I suppose, and this is...Seraphina," she says proudly. "What are you calling yours, honey?" she asks me.

"Arabella," I reply. "It sounds like some maiden somewhere..."

Mom laughs. "It certainly does," she replies, walking with me into the house, while Dad shakes his head—I know he'll warm to the idea eventually.

I continue working hard in my online college through the spring and, in the second week of June, I head to the campus proper for graduation. Most people don't recognize me, because I did all my work online, but I manage to find Gina—who will be standing close enough to me in the procession—before the ceremony. I look up in the stands and wonder who will be there for me on that sunny afternoon as I begin to take my steps towards being halfway done with my degrees to get into police academy.

I get the degree from the receiving line and shake the hand of the dean of the school before making my way back down to my assigned seat. Then there is the agony of waiting for the rest of the class to graduate, followed by some form of poetry slam and then there is some music and then we are permitted to go and find our families. I slip from my seat, meeting Gina beforehand and then we troop up some hill to meet everyone. We spot our families standing together almost immediately and make our way towards there. A series of cries of joys erupt from our mothers then, while our fathers simply look proud with small amounts of tears in their eyes.

There is talk of celebration and, since the kids are with Helena that evening, a local upscale steakhouse is suggested; it is called Sunset Villa Steakhouse, and we all get into our cars and head on over. Within the hour, we are all drowning in steaks and the adults are sipping beer and wine, while Gina opts for a soda and I opt for apple juice, which makes my mother flash me a smile. Mr. King, a high-profile lawyer who works with John Buchanan, turns to me in the lull between dinner and dessert.

"So, Miss Edythe, what are you going to do now?" he asks. "Gina mentioned you were going for your bachelor's?"

I nod. "Yes, Mr. King," I reply.

"Oh, sweetheart, call me Theo," he says.

"Well, Theo, yes, I am going for my bachelor's. I was thinking about getting a degree in psychology or something—it'll help me out in the long-run."

"Still want to be a detective?" Mrs. King asks, sipping her frou-frou white wine and looking at me curiously.

I nod. "Yes, and happily," I reply. "I figure once I have the degree, I can take the exam and try to get into police academy. Who knows? Maybe I'll raise the ranks as well as my mother did."

"That takes dedication and hard work, sweetheart," Dad put in.

"Your father's right, honey," Mom says. "You shouldn't do this because you think that people will automatically accept you because you're our daughter."

"Nor should you do this to please us," Dad says, taking Mom's hand. "You should do this because you want to be a detective."

"I do want to be a detective," I reply, turning to Gina, sick and tired of all the attention focused on me. "Gina, how are the applications going?" I ask.

She smiles, willing to speak. "Well, I should know by next year where I'll be going to law school," she replies.

"I'll deliver on that internship with ADA Barba as soon as we get word where you'll be attending," Theo tells her. "Once you're a junior, you'll need to find a decent place to be a spring associate. Where else but the best of the best, at the top of his game?"

I lowered my eyes to the amber color of my apple juice, crossing my fingers that the next two years would pass as quickly as possible.

The summer flew by with a trip to Dallas with Mom to visit Aunt Stella, Uncle Baxter, Harper, and the rest of my cousins. While Aunt Stella and Uncle Baxter showed Mom the town, I was left to watch the kids, which I didn't altogether object to. They were lovely children, and they seemed very pleased to have someone as "mature" as I seemed. They all had to be in bed by nine and, since it was summer, I knew my aunt, uncle, and mother would probably be out late. It didn't matter to me—I had the entertainment room. It was on the floor of the house taken up also by my aunt and uncle's two offices, so it's not like I'd be bothering anyone if I turned up the T.V. a bit.

The two weeks we spent in Dallas were amazing, and yet, I was pleased to be going back to New York. I was all signed up for my psychology classes—on campus this time around—at Hudson University, where I'd applied last spring as a joke, really. However, just a week after graduation, I'd been accepted into their psychology program, and would get a minor in law. I'd decided to specialize in child psychology, which I thought would serve me well in my job of choice. I'd also managed to get my mother and father to up my spending money allowance so as I could get new clothes for the fall semester.

In the third week of August, my parents impulsively went to Russia, and I didn't think much of it, as I was so busy reading some of the textbooks I'd bought for the upcoming semester. Helena was working double-time, to afford this house she and Sebastian wanted to buy about twenty minutes away, but I always let her get back to their apartment after the twins were in bed, around eight. All the kids slept through the night by that time, and so I was free to continue to read all about law and psychology as late as I wanted.

It was in the first week of September, just days after Mom and Dad needed to return to work, when they arrived home late one night. Trying desperately to be quiet and failing, I rose from my place upon the living room couch where I'd been simultaneously watching some reality T.V. show and reading a psychology book and becoming convinced that all these housewives or whoever they were happened to be mentally ill in some way.

"Mom? Dad?" I called, and they came into the living room.

"Sweetheart!" Mom cried, stepped forward to embrace me.

"Mom?" I asked, my eyebrows raising. "Is that...?"

"Did she meet her yet?" Dad asked, coming into the room, suitcases in hand. "Is she awake?"

"Dad?" I asked, looking around Mom as he stepped closer. "Tell me, please. What is going on here?"

"As I'm sure you know," my mother begins, "there are two wars going on now in Russia, although reports say a third could start up in a few weeks. There are many children who need families..."

"Mom...? Dad...?" I ask, finding my eyebrows shooting up off the charts. "Exactly what are you attempting to tell me?"

"She's hiding," Mom told Dad softly. "She probably went to the bathroom." "Who...?" I ask, as I hear a faraway toilet flushing and the telltale sign of someone washing their hands. Then a door opens, soft footfalls echo in my ears, coming closer and closer, and into the living room. I find my eyes widening far beyond repair when a girl of perhaps nine years of age steps behind my mother, gripping her pant leg. She had large, deep brown eyes, and a shock of raven hair which curled at the ends and flowed down her back.

"Honey, this is Viktoriya," my mother tells me patiently, and spells it out for me and even I feel my shock at its spelling. "Viktoriya, this is Edythe," she tells her, and spells out my name for her, too. "I'm so happy the two of you can meet your new sister," Mom informs us proudly.

"Si-sister?" I ask, utterly shocked.

My father smiles, taking Viktoriya's hand and an arm around my mother, smiling proudly. "Yes. Isn't it wonderful? The adoption should go through in a matter of months. We're going to use the spare room upstairs for her room."

I nod. "Sure. Cool." I switch off the T.V. "Sounds great. If you'll excuse me, I need to finish some reading for school," I say, brushing past them. "Welcome home," I call back, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

Viktoriya was quiet enough, and knew never to come into my room—not that she ever asked to do so. She was quiet and, above all, loved beautiful dresses. She began going to The Hackley School as I once had, and was in the fourth grade and doing quite well in her classes and academic work. I knew how much Livi resented not attending classes with her, but Livi was only five and still in the first grade with Donnie. Having achieved so much in his first year, Mason was accepted into the Elmwood Day School—which usually only took children aged two to six—so I knew Mom and Dad were very pleased to have all their children in school at the same time.

I vowed to complete the next two years on time, knowing that, once my next birthday happened—since I'd completed my probation obligations—my record would be formally wiped clean. Then, I would complete one last year, earn my bachelor's degree, and take the official exam for police academy. As Christmas loomed on the horizon, I found myself crossing my fingers for time to past faster than I ever thought possible.

Christmas came and I got new leather interior for my car, plus written permission from my parents for me to get a tattoo. I remember calling Gina right away and, the day after Christmas, made plans to get some ink done. Gina was already over eighteen, so she didn't need any permission whatsoever. We found a parlor in the dead center of Manhattan and, despite the snow everywhere, I permitted the artist to give me a permanent design.

I'd been told by the artist to wait five hours after the words had been carved along my back, and checked out Gina's Tweety Bird on her upper leg before I pulled my shirt back up. I got a quick cup of hot chocolate with her and we exchanged Christmas stories for a while before we went our separate ways for the day. I drove home along the snowy freeway, gently drumming my hands on the steering wheel as a pop song I knew came on the radio, gently humming and tapping out the beat as I drove home.

I had a wonderful birthday just three weeks later after the Christmas season had died down significantly. We went to The Trilogy Bistro—my uncle Milo's place—just me, Mom, Dad, and Gina, and of course Uncle Jay-Jay and Uncle Milo joined us, too. Their sons—twins, Christopher and Nicholas who had just been born via surrogate—were at home with their nanny that evening. The evening was going well, until Viktoriya was brought up, and then we spent the remainder of the evening talking all about her, much to my chagrin.

It wasn't just my birthday, either; once, when I was in the middle of my daily anecdote about school and how my teacher had told me that I'd answered a question incorrectly—even though he himself was correct—Viktoriya came into the room unannounced. She promptly took my mother by the hand and pulled her out of the kitchen, giving me a rather triumphant look as she did so, only to pull my mother into the living room to watch T.V. with her. I wondered then if it was against the law to throttle a child justifiably...

Finally, I'd received good news after the spring semester began—I could use my time in the group home as a very important project for my criminal law class! I was so excited that I drove just over the speed limit to get home, something I hadn't dared to do since my arrest. Once home, however, I found the house empty, with a note from my mother that she and Dad had taken all the kids out to a cabin we had rental access to in New Haven, Connecticut, near my rehab facility, and that it had been all Viktoriya's idea. I felt an amount of emptiness within me then, and decided to do something about it.

I went to my bedroom and got on my cell phone, quickly working in the numbers to call Gina. "Geen, hey, it's me."

"Yes, Mom, I got home okay," Gina says jokingly. "What's up?"

"Remember how that girl Melissa said she'd been your roommate but the whole thing fell through?"

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Well, how would you like me to be a roommate? I have a few hundred saved up and my parents always said they'd help pay my living expenses if I decided to ever leave home during college..."

"How much do you...?"

"Around nine hundred, give or take," I reply.

"Well, my parent's own the place," Gina tells me. "It was their first apartment when they moved here from Maine over twenty years ago. I wouldn't expect you to pay rent and nor should you—you're in school."

"Can I move in?" I ask her. "Today?"

"Well, it is Friday," she stipulated. "What will your folks say?"

"Absolutely nothing," I reply. "I'm eighteen—and besides, they got a replacement for me months ago. They won't miss me. Look, I've already started my packing now—if I hurry, I can make it there before dark."

"No problem," Gina says. "Will you be bringing bedding?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Cool. I'll head across the street to the locksmith and get you a key made—what color do you want?"

"A dark green is fine," I reply. "And how do you feel about me possibly bringing Arabella along?"

"Awesome!" she cries out. "Finally—a dog!"

I laugh. "Will your parent's care?"

"She house trained?"

"Yes."

"Spayed?"

"Yes."

"Does she shed?"

"Not overtly, no."

"We have a housekeeper who comes once a week anyhow," Gina says, almost like it isn't an issue. "It's totally fine."

"Thank you," I reply.

"Okay," Gina says. "I'll fix up your room and get your key made. Let me know when you've left and when you're almost here, okay?"

"Sure," I tell her. "See you then."

I hang up my phone then and proceed to dismantle my bedroom, regretful that I won't be able to take some of my nicer pieces of furniture, but then I realize something: I wouldn't be allowed to take it anyway. My mother and father had made it perfectly clear which adopted daughter they preferred, and it certainly wasn't me. I continued gathering my things, loathing the fact that this lovely room would probably be Viktoriya's from the moment I stepped out the front door. I felt a lump in my throat as I finished packing, my entire luggage set put to good use in that moment.

I get everything down the stairs and by the front door, whereupon I make several trips to get it into the trunk and backseat of my car. I then head into the kitchen and scrawl a note down for my parents, knowing that Viktoriya would display it in a frame for all I cared. You've made your choice, I wrote. I'm leaving as of three-forty-five on Friday, March twenty-fifth. Have fun... –Edythe

I then tape my platinum house key to the note and leave the kitchen, moving through the house and gather up Arabella and her things, clicking on her leash and leading her outside. Seraphina had been brought with everyone else, so it wasn't like they'd have to say goodbye to one another, thankfully. Taking one last look, I gather Arabella and one arm and her things in another, and say goodbye to living in the house in Westchester.