She stopped. The entire hallway outside the office fell deathly silent. She turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the stillness in her posture. Not rage. Not indignation. Just still.
His words had landed. Hard.
“People like you don’t intimidate me,” he added, his voice low and cold. “You just make everything harder than it needs to be.”
CHAPTERSEVEN
The air in the mayor’s office was stifling, thick with tension and far too much heat for a building that old on a day in this weather. The radiator clanked in the corner like it was taking a step back from the heat being produced by the human bodies at odds. Birdy stood in the center of it all, spine straight, jaw locked, eyes narrowed at the broad-shouldered man in the state-issued parka.
Paul Winters. Social worker. Self-appointed gatekeeper. And, apparently, licensed mansplainer.
He was calling her a bully? She was advocating. Protecting.
That baby had a name. And a mother. And rights. And he was acting like Birdy was the problem.
Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. Her palms itched with the familiar heat of fury—the kind that started in her chest and spread down her arms whenever she whiffed the scent of injustice. She ignored the stares from the staff outside the glass door, the warning tilt of Bunny’s head as Paul Winters kept going.
“You don’t intimidate me,” he said coldly. “You just make everything harder than it needs to be.”
And there it was. The knife in her gut. Birdy blinked once. Just once.
The heat dropped. A different kind of ache settled beneath her collarbone. Her ribs constricted. Not because he was wrong. But because he’d said exactly what so many others had only implied.
You’re too much. Too smart. Too strong. Too sharp-tongued and steel-backed. Too successful to be soft. Too loud to be loved.
She felt the eyes on her. Some sympathetic, some smug. Some already dialing this up for the next round of town gossip.
Bunny winced, just slightly. Her sister's reaction to this scene somehow made it worse. Or maybe it was the sight of Teddy Carter standing behind her, ready to be the support Bunny needed. Birdy knew her sister would come to her aid if she needed it. She didn't need it.
Birdy lifted her chin. This wasn’t about her. This was about her client. A frightened young girl with faded bruises on her wrists. Her head ducked. That jumpy flinch. The fact that she hadn’t named the father. Not out of shame—but fear.
So no. Birdy wasn’t going to let this puffed-up, emotionally restrained, law-by-the-letter social worker derail her. Not when she could smell the storm still clinging to her coat. Not when her voice was one of the few weapons she knew how to use to protect the defenseless.
She stepped in closer, going toe to toe with this Mr. Winters.
“You file your motion, and I’ll file mine. Let the court decide who's protecting this child and who's just pretending to. But make no mistake, Mr. Winters—my client may not have walked into this system the right way, but she’s here now. And I won’t let her be silenced just because she didn’t ask permission.”
Mr. Winter's jaw worked, like he was chewing on what to say next. Then he said it. “The strong don’t show up to be heroes. They show up because someone has to.”
Her breath caught. Everything in her body stilled. The noise of the hallway fell away. The thudding pulse in her ears quieted.
That line. She knew that line. The words curled like smoke through her memory, warm and familiar and painfully unexpected.
He had said that. Chat guy. The agent from the business office. The one who made her laugh. The one who made her feel seen.
She stared at Paul Winters. Really looked—past the glare and the square jaw and the tightly wound disapproval. Past the frown. Could it be...?
“Chat agent?”
“What?” Paul looked shocked. Then rattled. He stepped back.
There was something there. In his eyes. A flicker. Recognition.
“It’s you,” she said, a little stronger now. “Isn’t it?”
He didn't say something stupid like ‘Who?’ He stepped back but not in denial. Not yet.
She saw it. The dawning realization. The puzzle pieces sliding into place. He looked at her like she was a memory coming into focus. His mouth opened, then closed again.
