Chapter 9 - The Letter Dorian Left for MaeveMaeve turned five on a rainy Thursday.
Dorian had prepared a letter.
Martin Keane’s archive specified it should be opened when his child reached five—if such a child existed.
Selah brought the envelope to our house.
Lucian attended.
Vivienne was invited.
No board.
No cameras.
Just family in the least dangerous version of that word.
Selah read aloud.
To the child I hope exists someday,
We all stopped.
Dorian had written it before he knew Selah was pregnant.
If you are reading this, I probably made at least three decisions that annoyed everyone enough to preserve this letter.
Lucian laughed.
Exactly Dorian.
You will inherit money. I’m sorry.
Maeve, age five, whispered:
“Why sorry?”
Selah smiled.
“Keep listening.”
Money is useful. It can also make adults say ridiculous things with serious faces.
Vivienne looked down.
You may inherit shares in Ashcombe Group. Those shares do not make you smarter than anyone who works there.
Lucian murmured:
“I wish Grandfather had written me that.”
I elbowed him.
The letter continued.
Do not let anyone tell you preserving the company is the same as preserving the family. Companies are contracts. Families are choices we keep making.
Selah’s voice broke.
Then:
If Lucian is around, annoy him for me.
Maeve brightened.
“I can do that.”
“You already do,” I said.
Lucian glared.
Then the line that silenced everyone:
If Arden is around, listen when she says no. She is very irritatingly good at it.
I laughed through tears.
Dorian knew me.
The final paragraph:
And if my mother is around, remember that she loved us fiercely. Love her if you wish. But never confuse fierce love with permission.
Vivienne began crying.
Nobody stopped reading.
You belong first to yourself.
Selah closed the letter.
Maeve looked around.
“Is that all?”
Adults laughed.
Children have a gift for surviving sentimentality.
Then she asked:
“Was Daddy nice?”
Selah froze.
We had always told Maeve Dorian was her father.
But five-year-old questions were becoming sharper.
Lucian answered.
“Sometimes.”
Vivienne looked surprised.
He continued.
“He was funny. Difficult. Brilliant. Annoying.”
“Like you?”
I laughed.
Lucian sighed.
“Yes.”
Maeve smiled.
“Did he love me?”
Selah’s eyes filled.
“He didn’t know you were coming.”
Maeve frowned.
That truth hurt.
Then I said:
“But he made plans for you anyway.”
She looked at Dorian’s letter.
“That counts?”
“Yes.”
May you like
I thought about it.
“A lot.”
