Chapter 26 - THE FIREPLACE
The Blackwood estate was sold after Arthur’s death and Victor’s eventual release.
Years later, new owners renovated it into a conference center.
The fireplace survived.
I received an invitation to a medical-ethics symposium held there.
I almost refused.
Adrian said:
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
“I know.”
That made me want to go for the right reason.
We entered the ballroom in daylight.
Smaller than memory.
No champagne tower.
No Arthur.
No Victor.
The fireplace had been converted to gas.
A safety screen covered the opening.
I stood where my medication case had landed.
The symposium organizers knew the history but made no spectacle.
No reenactment.
No plaque reading SERAPHINA COLLAPSED HERE.
Thank God.
A panel discussed coercive control through healthcare access.
Physicians.
Lawyers.
Patient advocates.
Data-security experts.
Maren Ward participated remotely.
Adrian sat in the audience rather than panel because he did not want his involvement to dominate.
I spoke once.
“Healthcare coercion works especially well when the patient has a real condition. Abusers do not need to invent symptoms. They can distort who controls the interpretation.”
A patient advocate asked:
“What would have helped earlier?”
“Separate portal access. Independent medication management. Clinicians asking me questions without my spouse in the room. Capacity assessments insulated from family financial interests.”
No heroic camera.
No valet disguise.
Systems.
After the panel, I walked to the fireplace.
Celeste, now thirty, joined me.
“So this is it?”
“Yes.”
“Looks normal.”
“It was.”
“That’s creepy.”
“Why?”
“Bad things should happen somewhere obviously bad.”
I smiled.
“Unfortunately.”
She touched the brass screen.
“Did the pills actually burn?”
“The fake ones.”
“Right.”
She knew the entire case now.
No secrecy by adulthood.
“Did you ever keep the glass?”
“No.”
Evidence storage destroyed it after appeals.
“What about Dad’s valet coat?”
Adrian appeared behind us.
“Absolutely not.”
Celeste laughed.
“Coward.”
“I burned—”
I turned.
“You what?”
He froze.
“Metaphorically.”
“Adrian.”
“It went back to the contractor.”
“Good.”
No relic.
We left the ballroom.
Outside, rain had begun.
Celeste ran toward the car.
Adrian held his umbrella over me.
I said:
“I can walk in rain.”
“I know.”
He moved the umbrella back toward himself.
Marriage after control required tiny corrections forever.
May you like
He had become good at them.
So had I.
