Chapter 15 - THE CURTAINS
Three years after Jessica measured my bedroom windows, I moved into a house overlooking the Pacific.
Not enormous.
Still expensive.
I am not going to pretend billionaire downsizing means a bungalow with one bathroom.
But it is smaller than the old house.
Quieter.
No formal ballroom.
No staff corridor.
No bedroom large enough to require a medical station.
The first thing the interior designer asked was:
“What kind of curtains do you want?”
I stared at her.
Then started laughing.
She had no idea why.
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
I walked to the window.
For a long time after the poisoning, I hated closed curtains.
They reminded me of that bedroom.
Artificial darkness in the middle of the day.
David telling nurses sunlight gave me headaches.
Jessica choosing what would replace them.
So I chose linen panels.
Light enough that morning still enters.
Heavy enough for privacy when I want it.
My choice.
That is the part that matters.
Meridian is still operating.
I attend board meetings quarterly.
My wealth remains mostly inside structures I do not touch casually.
I have stopped using secrecy as a substitute for trust, though.
My closest friends know more.
My advisers challenge me more.
My medical directives explicitly require private patient communication whenever possible.
No spouse or caregiver automatically becomes my voice because speaking is inconvenient.
Hannah visits twice a year.
Her son calls me Aunt Evelyn because explaining the actual relationship would require a whiteboard.
David remains incarcerated.
I receive legally required notices when something material happens.
I do not follow his daily life.
Jessica rebuilt part of her design business.
Smaller.
She gave one public statement during the criminal proceedings and then stopped speaking to reporters.
She has respected every request for no contact.
Except once.
Last year, Samuel received a sealed envelope from her.
Not from David.
Jessica.
On the outside she wrote:
For Evelyn only. No request for forgiveness. Open only if she ever wants the part I never said in court.
Samuel asked whether I wanted it destroyed.
“No.”
“Sent back?”
“No.”
“Read?”
I looked at the envelope.
“No.”
So it sits in the bottom drawer of my desk.
That is the one unresolved thing I have allowed to remain.
I know what Jessica admitted legally.
I know what she told investigators.
I know she behaved monstrously beside my bed and later helped prove what David had done.
What I do not know is what she believes remained unsaid.
Maybe nothing important.
Maybe an excuse.
Maybe a memory of David that changes one detail.
Maybe the truth about why she stayed after first realizing how cruel he could be.
I no longer confuse unanswered questions with emergencies.
This morning, I opened the curtains myself.
My left hand shook slightly on the fabric.
It does that sometimes.
Sunlight filled the room.
For months, David treated every weakness in my body as proof that he should decide what happened around me.
Jessica once stretched a measuring tape across my chest because both of them believed I had become furniture in a room they were about to inherit.
They were wrong.
Not because I was secretly worth a billion dollars.
Not because Samuel had a protocol.
Not because cameras were watching.
They were wrong because being weak had never made me theirs.
I opened the window.
May you like
Ocean air moved the curtains.
And for the first time, I liked watching them move.
