Chapter 8 - THE HOUSE CHANGES HANDS
The Fairchild estate was suddenly surrounded by lawyers.
Not reporters.
Not police.
Lawyers.
They were worse.
Every room was catalogued.
Every account frozen.
Every business transaction reviewed.
Eleanor screamed that I was destroying generations of family history.
I finally turned toward her.
“Your family history was built on people being too afraid to speak.”
She slapped the table.
“You married Brendan because you wanted this life.”
I shook my head.
“I married Brendan because I loved him.”
My voice broke.
“That was my mistake.”
Then I walked into Chloe's room.
The crib was still there.
The tiny stuffed rabbit remained on the pillow.
I sat beside it.
For the first time since Chloe died, I allowed myself to scream.
Raymond found me there hours later.
He didn't speak.
He simply sat beside me.
After a while, I whispered:
“I don't want their company.”
“What do you want?”
I looked at my daughter's photograph.
“I want every family that was treated like mine to know they weren't powerless.”
Raymond nodded.
“That can be arranged.”
The next morning, I created the Chloe Fairchild Foundation.
Its first purpose would be funding emergency pediatric cardiac care for families denied treatment because of money.
The first donation came from my father's trust.
The second came from Samantha.
And the third came from an anonymous donor.
May you like
I didn't know who it was.
Not yet.
