Chapter 16
Victoria died when Isabella was ten.
Natural.
Peaceful.
Not sudden.
Rosa visited two weeks before.
Marcus stayed beside her.
So did I.
Isabella came in and out.
No one forced bedside meaning.
Victoria left no dramatic confession.
No hidden letters.
Thank God.
She did leave one instruction for her funeral.
“No portrait larger than me.”
Apparently she had learned from family decor.
We obeyed.
Afterward Isabella asked whether we should mention the collar.
“No.”
She thought.
“Why?”
“Because one bad thing is not her entire life.”
Then:
“Do we pretend it didn’t happen?”
“No.”
Good.
Both.
She understood.
At the funeral, Rosa sat beside Marcus.
Not front.
Not back.
Where she wanted.
Afterward Marcus told me:
“I used to think Mother surviving everything made her powerful.”
“And now?”
He looked toward Isabella.
May you like
“I think admitting some things hurt her made her human.”
Better.
