Chapter 9 - Maeve Left The Mansion Anyway
Part of me believed fixing the custody situation would convince Maeve to stay.
It didn’t.
Her final morning arrived quietly.
Two suitcases.
One cardboard box.
Her books.
Her uniforms folded away.
She had accepted a position with another family across town.
Not live-in.
Better boundaries.
Clear contract.
She told me that without bitterness.
I helped carry one box to her car.
“I could increase your salary.”
“I know.”
“Give you separate housing.”
“I know.”
“Whatever you need.”
She smiled sadly.
“Sterling, this is exactly the problem.”
I stopped.
“You keep thinking the correct offer can repair the wrong act.”
That sounded painfully familiar.
“I don’t want you to leave because of one terrible second.”
“I’m not.”
She looked toward the house.
“I’m leaving because that second showed me what could happen when your authority feels threatened.”
No accusation could have been clearer.
Orson’s transition was harder.
Maeve did not disappear.
She came for scheduled visits twice a week for the first month.
Then weekly.
Then every other weekend for a short outing.
His therapist guided the process.
No sudden severing.
No pretending attachment could be turned off because employment ended.
On Maeve’s last night living with us, Orson cried.
“Who’s gonna know when I can’t sleep?”
I was sitting beside him.
The question almost broke me.
“I will.”
He looked doubtful.
Fair.
“Will you stay?”
“Yes.”
“All night?”
“If you need me.”
He studied my face.
Then moved over slightly.
There was room beside him.
Not forgiveness.
Opportunity.
May you like
I sat.
And stayed until morning.
