Chapter 21 - Selina After the Story
Selina moved to Vermont for two years after completing supervision.
Her parents helped with Miles.
She worked for a regional healthcare network doing procurement analysis.
No glamorous consulting company.
No hidden invoices.
Then she returned to New York when Miles wanted more regular contact with Flynn and Grace.
She rented an apartment in White Plains.
Paid herself.
That detail mattered to her.
At Miles’s twelfth birthday, she handed me coffee.
“Can I ask something?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you still hate me?”
I thought.
“No.”
She looked surprised.
“Do you like me?”
“No.”
She laughed.
“Fair.”
Then:
“I used to think if Flynn chose me, it proved you weren’t better.”
“I never thought this was a contest until you brought your son into my delivery room.”
Selina looked down.
“I did.”
“Yes.”
“I knew it would hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I didn't know he was trying to use your reaction legally.”
“I know.”
“That doesn't make it okay.”
“No.”
Then she said:
“I’m sorry for the line about nobody asking for Grace.”
My hand tightened around coffee.
That one had lived inside me.
“She was minutes old.”
“I know.”
“Why say it?”
“Because she was a girl and I thought that meant Miles won.”
I stared at her.
Then she whispered:
“I hate that version of me.”
“Good.”
She looked up.
I almost smiled.
“Not because you should hate yourself forever. Because you should understand why she was cruel.”
Selina nodded.
Then:
“Can I apologize to Grace someday?”
“When she’s old enough to decide whether she wants to hear it.”
She accepted.
No entitlement.
Then Miles’s trust.
At thirteen, both children began receiving age-appropriate financial education from independent advisers.
Not amounts.
Concepts.
Trusts.
Ownership.
Responsibility.
Miles asked:
“Do I get more because I’m older?”
“No.”
“Because I’m a boy?”
I stared.
“Who told you that?”
“Nobody. Dad said old Vance people used to.”
I answered:
“Not this trust.”
Grace grinned.
“Ha.”
Miles threw a pillow.
Normal.
Then Flynn’s role at Vance Meridian.
None.
He occasionally attended shareholder meetings through his remaining four-percent stake.
No board seat.
Professional governance continued.
At one meeting, a reporter asked whether Miles might someday join.
Flynn answered:
“If he wants to apply for a job when he’s old enough.”
I heard later.
Progress.
Then Eleanor’s memorandum became part of trustee education materials, anonymized internally.
Consent is not presumed from anticipated family agreement.
That principle outlived scandal.
Then Phoebe turned fifty-six and announced retirement plans nobody believed.
She remained trust counsel but reduced workload.
I asked:
“What am I supposed to do when you retire?”
“Read documents.”
“Cruel.”
Then she looked at Grace and Miles running through my backyard.
“You did the hardest part.”
“What?”
“You let them become children instead of exhibits.”
I had never thought of it that way.
Flynn used Miles as proof.
Grace as threat.
Selina used Miles as status.
I nearly could have used Grace as justification for revenge.
Instead they got crayons.
Dinosaurs.
May you like
Bad birthday cake.
The ordinary inheritance mattered more.
