A Mafia Socialite Threw My Eight-Year-Old Daughter From Her Swing—Then She Smiled and Said My Dead Wife Had Chosen Her
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Chapter 24 / 27
Chapter 24 - The Birthday After
Ellie’s ninth birthday had no large garden party.
Her choice.
Six friends.
Pizza.
Pool.
Cake shaped like a horse and somehow looking like a diseased dog.
She loved it.
Margaret came.
Anthony’s daughter came too.
No socialites.
No speeches.
No hundred-person guest list.
Ellie asked:
“Can I use the swing?”
My chest tightened.
“Yes.”
She ran to it.
Sat.
Pushed off.
Higher.
Higher.
I almost told her to slow down.
May you like
Stopped.
She was allowed to reclaim a swing without my fear turning it into a memorial.
