They didn’t argue, just gave him nods of understanding and disappeared into the town hall. Paul walked toward the sidewalk, his boots crunching over salted gravel, every muscle in his body locking down tight.
Zeke’s mom didn’t waste time. “I know what you’re doing,” she hissed. “You and that lawyer. Marrying to take my grandbaby away.”
Paul kept his face neutral. “You told me yourself the baby wasn’t Zeke’s. Are you amending that statement now?”
Her lips pursed tighter, bloodless. “I will not be made a fool of,” she snapped. “If that child’s got my blood, I have a right to see her raised properly.”
“It’s too late for that,” Paul said calmly. “We've checked everything with the court. The marriage will be legal. The guardianship of Beverly and her baby will be as well.”
“You think you’ve won?”
Paul said nothing.
“I have friends at the state office,” she said, voice sly now. “Friends who tell me your little lawyer fiancée has a few... loose threads. Some paperwork problems with her business registration.”
Birdy's late filing? The form that almost jeopardized her entire practice? Paul had had that taken care of. Sure, he'd pulled some strings, but nothing illegal. People did it all the time in the office.
Zeke’s mother smiled thinly, seeing the hesitation flash across his face.
“It would be a shame,” she said, voice oily, “if someone made trouble for Ms. Chou. If someone filed a few complaints. Made things... messy.”
The woman was threatening Birdy. Threatening the life Birdy had built with her bare hands. Threatening the thing that made her light up in this world.
Paul stood a little taller, letting the full weight of his presence settle over the conversation like a shield. His voice was calm, controlled—barely. “We can discuss supervised visits next week. Because the child deserves to know her roots, if it's safe.”
Zeke’s mother narrowed her eyes. “No, that’s not what we’re going to do.” Her voice was venomous, sugarcoated in civility. “You're going to call off the guardianship. I'm going to get my grandbaby. And that loose little floozie will stay away from my son and his daughter. Otherwise, I'll end Ms. Chou’s business and ruin your career.”
The words hit him like a slap. His pulse stuttered, then roared to life. For a heartbeat, he couldn’t move—couldn’t think—only feel the sucker punch of hearing Birdy’s name used like a weapon. A slur thrown at Beverly. A baby referred to like a possession.
Shock turned to rage. Hot. Blinding. His hands fisted at his sides, his breath coming faster, shorter, his throat tight. He wanted to shout, to shake the woman, to demand what kind of monster used a child—used threats—as leverage.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Because anger wouldn’t protect anyone.
The urge to defend Birdy surged through him, fierce and instinctual. He could almost see her in his mind—head high, jaw set, eyes flashing with pride and fire. She’d face this down like she did everything else: with logic and law and that ferocious heart of hers.
God, he loved her. He was in love with her. But this moment wasn’t about him. Not even about Birdy—not really. It was about the baby.
That tiny, helpless girl who had clutched his lanyard and hiccup-laughed like she didn’t know the world could be cruel. The child who had burrowed against his chest and fallen asleep as if she already trusted him to keep her safe.
He had promised, silently, the moment he’d held her—he would protect her. No matter what. Even if it meant swallowing the hurt, burying his pride, and letting this woman believe she’d won.
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
The winter sun gleamed off the white stone, lighting up the doorway where Birdy's life was about to change. Where her life was about to begin.
The structure stood firm and proud, all sharp lines and right angles, its red-brick exterior unapologetically solid. No frills. No softness. Just strength.
Birdy had always admired buildings like this—sturdy, practical, built to last. She’d shaped her life the same way. Edges clean. Corners sharp. Foundation unshakable. But just like the courthouse, beneath her rigid exterior was something more vital—purpose. Shelter. Protection for those who needed it most.
She paused at the foot of the stairs, her breath rising in small clouds around her. Her heart was pounding. Not from nerves—she’d stood in plenty of courtrooms and never blinked—but from anticipation.
She clutched the soft folds of her dress tighter around her, heart fluttering in her chest like a startled sparrow. She wasn’t used to feeling like this—giddy. Light. A little breathless, like she’d caught a lucky gust of wind and was half-flying.
Her sisters’ laughter floated around her. Bunny was teasing Kitty, who was balancing Beverly’s diaper bag and a bouquet at the same time. Beverly, holding her baby tightly against her chest, smiled shyly up at Birdy, as if offering silent encouragement.
Birdy’s gaze skipped ahead—and then locked on to him. Paul. He stood by the courthouse door, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. He looked so solid and sure against the sweep of white behind him.
“Go on ahead,” Birdy told her sisters.
