Chapter Text
The world doesn’t stop when someone dies. The emails keep coming. The neighbors still walk their dogs. Your boss still leaves voicemails about that project you said you’d have done by Friday.
But all you can do is sit, hands clenched in your lap, watching the second hand on the lawyer’s office clock tick louder than your heartbeat.
You’re not sure how you got here. One moment, you were buying coffee on a rainy Tuesday. The next, you were standing in a hospital corridor with a trembling hand over your mouth as a nurse said the words you’ll never unhear.
Car accident. No survivors.
Now you’re in this sterile office with its fake ficus plant and framed degrees on the wall, waiting for your whole life to change.
Melissa Schemmenti walks in five minutes late. Her coat is soaked at the shoulders, and she doesn’t look at you right away. Her jaw is set like she’s bracing for war, not grief. But her eyes, bloodshot and rimmed with smudged eyeliner, betray her.
She sits across from you without saying a word. That’s fine. You don’t know what to say either.
The lawyer clears his throat and begins reading from a stack of papers. You only catch fragments.
“…beloved friends and family…”
“…custody arrangements…”
Then:
“…Melissa Schemmenti and [Your Full Name] are to be appointed as co-guardians of Beatrice “Bea” Bennett-Russo, effective immediately.”
Time stops. Air rushes from your lungs.
You glance at Melissa. Her head jerks up like she’s sure she misheard. “You gotta be kidding me.”
The lawyer pushes his glasses up his nose. “It’s quite clear. Gina and Tasha made the decision jointly.”
“No offense,” Melissa says, turning to you, “but you and I can’t even get through a dinner without arguing. You really think we’re supposed to raise a kid together?”
He holds up a hand. “They believed you’d balance each other out. That Beatrice would have the best of both worlds.”
You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to run back to your quiet, one-bedroom apartment and pretend this is just a terrible dream.
But then you picture Bea—four years old, with Gina’s curls. You remember the way she used to fall asleep on your shoulder during movie nights. The way she called Melissa her “Auntie Lissa” and insisted on helping her cook spaghetti every Sunday.
And you know, deep down, you can’t walk away.
Melissa’s jaw works as she stares at the paperwork. She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she sighs.
“Fine. We do this. But on one condition, we take her back to their house. That’s where her stuff is. Her room. Her toys. She needs stability.”
You nod stiffly. “Agreed.”
The lawyer offers a faint smile. “I’ll have the paperwork drawn up.”
As you leave the office together, Melissa turns to you, eyes hard.
“I’m only doing this for Bea. Don’t think this means we’re suddenly friends.”
You look right back at her. “Trust me, I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She scoffs, pulls out her car keys, and walks off into the drizzle.
You exhale and lean against the wall, letting the rain find your skin. Because ready or not, your life just changed forever.