Chapter 15 - IF I DIE
My estate plan named my younger brother Matteo as Livia’s guardian.
He lived in California.
Married.
Two children.
Good man.
Livia liked him.
But the document was four years old.
He had since developed a chronic health condition that made taking another child complicated.
He never told me he could not.
He assumed we would review someday.
Someday.
Again.
Francesca was too old for primary guardianship.
Rosalie loved Livia but did not want financial authority and had never planned to parent full time.
Bianca would have become stepmother but not automatic guardian if I died.
That was another misconception.
Marriage alone would not have handed her Livia.
Still, courts often consider existing household relationships.
Had the wedding happened and Bianca spent years as stepmother, she might have had standing later.
The thought chilled me.
Not because stepmothers are dangerous.
Because I had nearly married someone without updating the plan.
We reviewed candidates.
My cousin Dominic?
No.
Too much business conflict.
Close friend Nathan?
No children, willing but unsure.
Elena’s cousin Sarah?
Excellent relationship, two hours away.
Livia knew her.
Independent trustee would remain financial.
Rosalie could remain backup personal advocate.
Eventually I named Sarah first and Matteo second, with Rosalie expressly not given financial power unless separately appointed.
I told all of them.
No secret burden.
Then I told Livia age-appropriately.
“If Daddy got very sick or died, Aunt Sarah would help take care of you.”
She stared.
“Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Then stop.”
Fair.
We stopped.
Then I did something Elena would have enjoyed.
I wrote a plain-language family guide.
Not legal authority.
Names.
Contacts.
School.
Doctors.
Livia’s preferences.
Her mother’s history.
No passwords in dangerous places.
No romantic partner automatically in charge.
Julian called it sensible.
Rosalie called it overdue.
Then Livia’s hair reached her shoulders again.
She refused to cut it.
Fine.
No one suggested.
One morning she asked Rosalie for the braid Elena used to wear.
Rosalie did it.
I watched.
No pain.
Just memory.
Then the charity-event program at Bellaforte expanded modestly.
Eight events a year.
Revenue covered part of preservation.
No guest conversion.
No residential school.
Livia sometimes attended for twenty minutes in a dress, sometimes stayed upstairs in pajamas.
No requirement to perform as heiress.
Good.
Then Moretti House struggled after losing Bellaforte.
Not collapsed.
They had other clients.
Bianca left the company leadership role after internal conflict with her brother.
Not our concern.
Then her probation officer approved travel.
No contact with us.
Good.
Then a letter arrived.
From Bianca.
Through counsel.
Addressed to me.
Julian asked if I wanted it.
I said yes.
She wrote:
I told myself that marrying you meant joining a family, but what I wanted was the authority I associated with being your wife.
Good start.
Then:
I saw Livia’s grief as competition. I saw Rosalie’s loyalty as disobedience. I saw Bellaforte as proof that I belonged.
There.
Then:
The clippers were not part of the business plan. They were worse in another way. I was angry that Livia wanted to look like Elena on my wedding day, and I wanted to destroy that resemblance in the moment.
I had wondered.
Now confirmed.
No hidden ritual.
No DNA.
Cruelty.
Then:
I am not asking you to forgive me.
Good.
Then:
Do not give this to Livia unless a therapist someday thinks it helps her.
Also good.
I stored it.
Not with Livia’s things.
Then Rosalie asked:
“Do you believe her?”
“About what?”
“That she’s sorry.”
I thought.
“Maybe.”
“Does it matter?”
“Less than it used to.”
Exactly.
The world no longer depended on Bianca becoming someone I could understand.
The next question belonged to Livia:
Would she ever want to hear from the woman who cut her hair?
At six, the answer was obvious.
No.
May you like
At sixteen, perhaps different.
We did not need to decide now.
