Chapter 10 - Clear Skies and Clean Deeds
Six months later, spring had finally broken over Toronto.
The icy winds off Lake Ontario had softened into warm, balmy breezes that rustled the freshly budded trees along University Avenue.
The balcony door of Unit 14B was wide open, letting in the gentle hum of city traffic, the distant toll of church bells, and the sweet smell of blooming magnolias from Queen’s Park.
Leo was sitting on a thick, colorful activity mat in the center of the living room, babbling happily as he banged a wooden stacking ring against a soft block. He was seven months old now—chubby-cheeked, bright-eyed, with two tiny bottom teeth and a laugh that filled every corner of the apartment with pure, unfiltered sunshine.
My incision had healed into a thin, pale silver line, a quiet scar that no longer hurt, serving only as a private reminder of the fire I had walked through to get here.
Wade had never used his supervised access hours.
Not once.
When the court required him to pay three hundred dollars for an intake evaluation at the access center, submit to random drug and alcohol screenings, and sit in a monitored room under professional observation, he simply stopped responding to his lawyer’s emails.
He didn't want to be a father. He had never wanted to be a father. He had only wanted a prop to manipulate my guilt and a legal claim to extort my savings.
Once the financial incentive vanished, he vanished with it.
His line of credit had been partitioned by the bank under his sole name following our fraud disclosure, and according to the last update from Claire Henderson, his wages in Northern Ontario were being garnished to the maximum legal limit to satisfy the restitution order.
Roberta’s criminal charges had concluded with a conditional discharge, twelve months of strict probation, and a three-year peace bond that made it a summary offense for her to come within fifty kilometers of Toronto or utter my name online.
The silence they left behind was the sweetest music I had ever known.
“Look at him,” Mom said, walking out of the kitchen with a plate of fresh strawberries and sliced melon. She sat down on the floor beside Leo, who immediately reached his sticky little hands toward a piece of fruit. “He’s got your stubborn jaw, Ivy.”
“That’s not stubbornness, Mom,” I smiled, sitting beside them on the hardwood. “That’s survival instinct.”
My laptop rested on the coffee table nearby, its screen displaying the updated client roster for *Chen Brand Identity*.
We had landed two major enterprise accounts over the winter, including a lucrative contract with a national clean-energy foundation. My business had expanded, allowing me to hire Chloe full-time as creative director and work flexible four-day weeks so I could spend every golden afternoon watching Leo learn to crawl, stand, and explore his world.
Beside the laptop lay a crisp, framed certificate from the Ontario Land Registry Office.
It was the deed to Unit 14B.
It bore one name, and one name only: *Ivy Chen, Sole Registered Owner in Fee Simple.*
I picked up Leo, lifting him into the air until he squealed with delight, his chubby legs kicking against my ribs. I pulled him close, burying my face in the soft, warm curve of his neck, breathing in the scent of baby powder, sunshine, and absolute safety.
Ten months ago, I was sitting on a soaked mattress with staples tearing in my flesh, shivering from a pitcher of ice water, watching a weak man smirk in the doorway while his mother tried to break my spirit.
They thought that by pouring cold water on me, they would put out my fire.
They didn't realize that some women aren't extinguished by the cold.
Some women are forged by it.
I looked out through the glass doors at the wide, open sky stretching over the city.
May you like
The locks were changed. The deeds were clean. The debts were gone.
And for the first time in my life, my home was entirely, beautifully my own.
