Chapter 2 - The Red Velvet Box
By 9:00 p.m. that evening, the tension inside Gene’s house had settled into a thick, suffocating gloom.
The house was large enough that everyone could pretend to occupy different spaces, but small enough that every footstep on the floorboards carried the weight of what had happened that morning. Gene had retired to her upstairs sitting room, claiming a migraine, though no one missed the fact that she had taken three calls from her estate lawyer before dinner.
I walked down the second-floor hallway, the soft runner rug muffling my steps, and pushed open the door to the guest bedroom.
Holly was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the queen-sized bed. She hadn't changed out of her gold dress, though she had taken off her shoes and set them neatly side-by-side at the foot of the bed. The cheap vanilla candle sat in her lap. She was running her thumb repeatedly over the paper tag, reading those three words over and over again.
To Brandon’s Girl.
She looked so small against the massive headboard, her dark hair falling around her face, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“Holly, sweetie,” I said gently, stepping into the room and closing the door softly behind me. “Why haven't you changed into your pajamas?”
She didn't look up immediately. Her small thumb kept tracing the ink.
“Mom,” she asked, her voice hardly louder than a whisper, “am I only Dad’s girl?”
The question hit me like a physical blow to the chest. I stepped toward the bed, my throat tightening, but before I could climb up beside her, the door swung open further and Brandon stepped into the room.
He didn't look at me. His entire focus was locked on the little girl on the bed.
He didn't hesitate. Brandon walked over, dropped to both knees on the carpet beside the mattress, and took the candle out of her hands. He set it on the nightstand, out of her sight, then wrapped his massive, rough hands around her tiny fingers.
“Listen to me, Holly,” Brandon said, his voice deep, steady, and echoing with an absolute certainty that filled the quiet room. “You are my daughter. Not my step-daughter, not my wife’s child, and not a guest in my life. You are mine. No paper tag, no bad gift, and no mean old woman gets to decide who you belong to.”
Holly looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. “Then why doesn't Grandma Gene like me?”
“Because Grandma Gene is foolish,” Brandon said simply, without a drop of anger in his tone—only cold, objective fact. “She thinks family is built out of blood and last names. But family is built out of who shows up. Who holds your hand when you have a nightmare? Who steams your gold dress?”
“You do,” Holly whispered.
“That’s right,” Brandon said.
He reached past her, opened her small overnight bag resting at the foot of the bed, and pulled out a small, rectangular box wrapped in deep red velvet. It was heavy, vintage, and lacked any brand markings. He placed it carefully into Holly’s lap.
Holly touched the soft velvet with her fingertips. “What is this?”
“That,” Brandon said, looking her straight in the eye, “is a choice.”
I watched from the foot of the bed, my heart racing. “Brandon, what are you doing?”
Brandon didn't look back at me. He kept his eyes on Holly. “Inside that box is something that belonged to my grandfather—Gene’s father. The man who actually built everything this family owns. Before he died, he left me a very specific set of instructions because he knew what my mother was really like.”
Holly turned the red box over in her small hands. “Will Grandma be mad if I give it to her?”
“She will be very mad,” Brandon answered honestly. “She will realize that she doesn't have the power she thinks she has.”
“Will you still be my dad?” Holly asked, her voice cracking slightly on the last word.
May you like
For half a second, Brandon’s composure broke. His eyes welled with heat, and his lip trembled before he caught himself. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead gently against hers, and pulled her into a tight, fierce embrace.
“Always,” he choked out into her dark hair. “Until the sky falls down, kiddo. Always.”
