Chapter 10
One year later.
Margaret stood on the stage of the newly opened Rebecca Mercer Art School in Harlem, looking out at a room full of two hundred underprivileged kids, all holding paintbrushes, all grinning up at her. The school was her first project as head of the Mercer Family Foundation—her mother’s dream, finally made real.
A lot had changed in a year.
She was now the CEO of Mercer Logistics, the company her grandfather had built, her mother had been set to inherit. She’d kept all the old employees, promoted dozens of women to top positions, and turned the company into one of the most ethical, most profitable logistics firms in the world. She’d doubled the foundation’s budget, poured millions into schools, domestic violence shelters, and programs for single mothers—people who, like her, had been told they were nothing, told they couldn’t succeed.
She’d had her first art show six months earlier. A collection of her work alongside her mother’s. It had sold out in three hours. Critics called her “a revelation.” She’d donated every penny of the proceeds to the art school.
She’d sold the Fifth Avenue penthouse. Sold the Hamptons house. Donated all the money from the sales to the foundation. She’d bought a smaller, warmer loft in Brooklyn, with a huge studio for painting, a big kitchen for cooking, and a balcony that looked out over the skyline. It was hers. All hers. No Richard. No Eleanor. No one telling her what to do, what to wear, who to be.
Jonathan was still her rock. He’d stepped back from the day-to-day running of the company, let her take the reins, but he was always there when she needed him—for advice, for a shoulder to cry on, for bad takeout and old movies on nights when the memories got too loud. He’d walked her down the aisle last spring, when she’d married Cole.
Cole. Quiet, strong, steady Cole. Who’d stood outside her bathroom door when she cried, who’d pulled her from the wreckage of the car, who’d loved her not for her money or her name, but for her—for the woman who painted until dawn, who cried at dog commercials, who was still learning how to be loud, how to take up space, how to be loved without conditions.
They were expecting a baby in three months. A little girl. They were going to name her Rebecca.
The crowd cheered as Margaret finished her speech. She cut the ribbon on the front doors of the school, and the kids swarmed inside, running to the easels, laughing, yelling, covered in paint before the first hour was up.
Margaret stood in the doorway, watching them, a hand resting on her swollen belly. She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was an older woman, maybe seventy, with silver hair and kind eyes. Margaret didn’t recognize her.
“Hi,” the woman said, smiling. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was at the gala. The night your husband… well. The night everything changed.”
Margaret nodded. She remembered a lot of faces from that night. Most of them had been laughing.
“I just wanted to say,” the woman went on, her voice soft. “I laughed that night. I went along with it. Because everyone else was. Because I was scared not to. I’ve felt terrible about it ever since. What you did—standing up to him, standing up to all of it—you changed me. You made me realize I don’t have to go along with things just because everyone else does. I left my husband six months ago. He wasn’t as bad as Richard, but he wasn’t good either. I just wanted to say thank you. For giving me the courage.”
She squeezed Margaret’s hand, then turned and walked away, joining a group of kids painting a mural on the back wall.
Margaret felt tears in her eyes. She’d spent so long thinking the gala was the worst night of her life. And it had been. But it had also been the best. Because it had set her free. Because it had led her to Jonathan, to Cole, to her mother’s truth, to this life she’d never dared to dream of.
Jonathan came up behind her, putting his arm around her shoulders. Cole joined them on her other side, his hand resting gently on her belly.
“Ready to go home?” Cole asked.
Margaret smiled. She looked out at the kids, at the paintings covering the walls, at the bright blue sky above Harlem. She thought of her mother, watching her from somewhere, smiling. She thought of the letter she’d found in Rebecca’s box, the one meant for her eighteenth birthday, the one that had gotten her through the worst days of the trial.
My darling girl, if you're reading this, know that you were loved more than life itself. Never let anyone make you feel small. You are a Mercer—strong, bright, unbreakable.
She was unbreakable now.
She squeezed Cole’s hand, leaned into Jonathan’s arm, and smiled.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready.”
May you like
They walked out into the sunshine, together, as the sound of laughing kids echoed behind them. The past was gone. The Whitmores were gone. All that was left was the future. Bright, wide open, entirely hers.
And she was never going to be small again.
