Chapter 10 - Purple Frosting
On Nora’s fifth birthday, Claire let her help make cupcakes in the new kitchen.
Flour covered the counter.
Sprinkles rolled onto the floor.
Nora wore a paper crown and insisted the frosting needed “more purple.”
Claire laughed.
“How much more?”
“All the purple.”
“That is not a measurement.”
“It is now.”
The kitchen was messy.
Loud.
Alive.
No one slammed a fist on the counter.
No one guarded a bank card.
No one watched from the sink while cruelty pretended to be family loyalty.
After cupcakes, Nora climbed into Claire’s lap with purple frosting on her chin.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you wear a ring?”
Claire held her gently.
“Because I don’t need one right now.”
“Did you used to have one?”
“Yes.”
“Where is it?”
Claire looked toward her desk.
“In a safe place.”
“Is it treasure?”
Claire thought of the coffee-stained island, the medical report, Daniel’s face when the fear finally reached him.
Then she looked at her daughter.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s a reminder.”
“Of what?”
Claire kissed Nora’s hair.
“That I can choose what stays in my life.”
Nora nodded as if that made perfect sense.
Then asked for another cupcake.
Claire gave her one.
May you like
Because some days, freedom looked like legal documents and locked accounts.
And some days, it looked like a little girl in a paper crown eating too much purple frosting in a kitchen where nothing had to be hidden under a ring again.
