Chapter 2 - Betsy’s cheek
I left the gala.
No dramatic family tribunal.
No locked doors.
No men surrounding Octavia.
My security director preserved camera footage.
Then I took Betsy to urgent care.
Her injury:
Facial redness.
Mild swelling.
No dental injury.
No eye trauma.
No concussion.
No fracture.
One slap.
Wrong without inventing a catastrophe.
The physician asked:
“Who hit her?”
“My cousin.”
Betsy corrected:
“Dad’s mean cousin.”
Accurate enough.
Then the doctor asked whether Betsy felt safe going home.
“Yes.”
“Does Octavia live there?”
“No.”
“Does she take care of you?”
“No.”
Good.
The criminal issue could be handled without uprooting Betsy’s life.
On the drive home she asked:
“What’s an heir?”
I looked at her through the rearview mirror.
“That depends.”
“She said Grandpa wanted a boy.”
“I heard.”
“Is that true?”
“No.”
“How know?”
“Because Grandpa has a mouth.”
She almost smiled.
“He talks too much.”
“He certainly does.”
Then she asked:
“Am I supposed to get something?”
May you like
That was harder.
Because Octavia’s lie had been built around something real.
