Chapter 14
Bianca’s belongings left the estate in three trucks.
Livia watched from an upstairs window.
“Is she moving?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“From here, yes.”
Livia thought about it.
Then:
“Good.”
No guilt.
Children sometimes know what adults complicate.
I did not force sadness.
Later that afternoon, Livia asked to cut the other side of her hair.
I froze.
“Why?”
“So it matches.”
I crouched.
“Do you want it shorter?”
She touched the uneven section.
“I don’t want Bianca hair.”
That phrase hurt.
I called a stylist Livia already knew.
Not a bridal stylist.
Not someone new.
She sat beside Livia on the floor and showed her pictures.
Long.
Short.
Uneven left alone.
Trimmed to blend.
Every option.
Livia chose.
That mattered.
I sat across the room and kept my mouth shut.
Eventually she picked a short bob.
When it was finished, she stared at herself for a long time.
Then smiled.
“I look like me.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
Not Sofia.
Not Bianca’s idea of a flower girl.
Not the damaged child from the bridal suite.
Her.
Rosalie started crying.
Livia frowned.
“Why are you crying?”
Rosalie laughed.
“Because you’re pretty.”
Livia rolled her eyes.
“I know.”
I laughed so hard I had to look away.
That sound changed the whole room.
For the first time, the haircut no longer belonged to Bianca.
Livia had made a choice about her own hair afterward.
Small.
May you like
But hers.
That was how we began taking things back.
