Chapter 9 - New Locks, New Beginnings
By Wednesday afternoon, the locksmith had finished installing heavy-duty deadbolts on every exterior door of the house. He handed me a gleaming set of four keys, wiping his hands on a rag.
"All set, Mr. Bradley. Nobody’s getting in here without your explicit permission."
"Thanks," I said, paying him and locking the front door behind him with a satisfying, heavy clack.
That evening, we decided to celebrate Frederick’s actual birthday properly—just the three of us, without twenty critical relatives, without catered seafood, and without my mother’s toxic shadow hanging over the dining room table.
Amy wore the blue silk dress I had bought her. It fit her perfectly, accentuating her grace and restoring the vibrant light to her eyes that I had missed for so long. She had baked a small, simple vanilla cake herself from scratch, and the kitchen smelled of sweet butter, vanilla extract, and roasted chicken.
We sat at the dining table—just the three of us. No folding chairs for guests. No demands for domestic servitude.
When we sang Happy Birthday to Frederick, he clapped his hands together, covered in a glorious mess of white buttercream frosting, laughing with a pure, unadulterated joy that filled every corner of the house.
After we put Frederick down for his evening nap, Amy and I sat out on the back patio under the warm Nashville stars. The hum of the cicadas in the trees was the only sound breaking the night air.
"You know," Amy said softly, resting her head on my shoulder as we shared a glass of sweet tea, "I was so afraid of what would happen if we stood up to her. I thought our family would fall apart."
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"Families built on lies and control are supposed to fall apart, Amy," I replied, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her close. "What we have now—this is real. This is our foundation."
She smiled, looking out over the quiet, peaceful lawn. "It’s a strong foundation. Nothing’s ever going to crack it."
