My Lovely Headmaster

Chapter 26

The letter arrives on a gray March morning, expensive paper with the Dickenson family seal. Not from Theodore—he can't contact us directly anymore—but from the family lawyers.

Ms. Johnson, The Dickenson Trust requires a formal review of Devon's living arrangements. As the heir's mother, your past decisions, including concealment of paternity and current unmarried status, raise concerns about long-term stability. We recommend voluntary relinquishment of primary custody to ensure Devon's optimal development within appropriate social structures. The board meets April 1st.

My hands shake as I read it three times. They're trying to take him. Not through the courts this time—through money, through power, through the weight of "appropriate social structures."

"Mom?" Devon stands in the doorway, violin case in hand. "You look sick."

"I'm fine, baby."

He studies me with those too-knowing eyes. "Is Grandfather Theodore trying to hurt us again?"

"Not directly." I fold the letter, hiding it. "Go to practice. I'll be there soon."

After he leaves, I sit in our empty rooms, staring at the arches of Blackwood's towers through the window. Everything we've built feels suddenly fragile, like ice over deep water.

The thoughts come unbidden: Maybe Devon would be better off. Maybe I'm holding him back. Maybe love isn't enough against billions of dollars and centuries of tradition.

I find myself in the old music room—our music room, where everything began and nearly ended. The piano sits silent, dust motes dancing in pale light. I sit on the bench, but my fingers won't move on the keys.

"Jasmine?" Vlad's voice from the doorway. "Devon said you seemed upset."

"The trust board wants to review custody arrangements." I hand him the letter.

His face darkens as he reads. "They can't do this. The restraining order—"

"Only covers Theodore. Not the board, not the lawyers, not the weight of Dickenson history crushing everything in its path."

"We'll fight it."

"With what?" The words come out sharper than intended. "Love? Determination? Those don't matter in boardrooms."

"They matter to me. To Devon."

"Do they? Or are you just playing house until the family pressure becomes too much?" The accusation is unfair, but I can't stop. "You could have any woman, any life. Why complicate everything for a mistake from six years ago?"

"Mistake?" His voice is dangerously quiet.

"That's what we were, weren't we? A drunk girl and a broken boy colliding in the dark?"

"Is that really what you think?"

"I think I'm tired, Vlad. Tired of fighting for the right to exist in your world."

He leaves without another word. The silence that follows feels final.

I don't go to dinner. Don't answer when Devon knocks. Don't respond when Leo texts increasingly concerned messages. The weight of everything—six years of struggle, three months of battles, a lifetime of not quite belonging—presses down until breathing feels impossible.

The bottle of pills is from after Devon's birth, when postpartum depression nearly drowned me. I'd kept them, hidden, a reminder of how close I'd come to leaving him motherless.

Now they feel like a solution.

He has Vlad now. The Dickensons. Money. Everything I could never give him.

I count them out. Twenty-three. Enough.

The water glass shakes in my hand.

Devon playing piano, his face lit with joy.

Three pills go down.

Devon saying "Mom's the bravest person I know."

Five more.

Devon, Devon, Devon—

The rest scatter across the floor as the door crashes open. Leo stands there, face white with rage or fear.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Leave me alone."

"Like hell." He's across the room in two strides, kicking the pills away, grabbing my shoulders. "You selfish, stupid—"

"I'm doing what's best for Devon—"

"You're abandoning him!" Leo's never yelled at me before. It's terrifying. "You think this is noble? It's cowardice."

"The board will take him anyway—"

"Only if you're not here to fight." He shakes me, not gently. "You think Devon needs money? He needs his mother. You think Vlad needs a perfect society wife? He needs you, you absolute disaster of a woman."

"I'm so tired, Leo."

"Then rest. But don't you dare leave." His voice breaks. "We just became a family. You don't get to destroy that because some lawyers sent a scary letter."

He pulls out his phone, calls someone. "Medical emergency. Old music room. Now."

Everything blurs. The room spins. The last thing I see is Leo's face, mascara running—is Leo crying?—saying "If you die, I'll never forgive you. None of us will."

Then darkness.