sitting with her during physical therapy appointments, listening, really listening to stories about her father, her childhood, the years of hard work that had shaped the quiet careful woman she’d become.
Meanwhile, Victoria’s case moved through the legal system, the public fascination with the penthouse balcony scandal refusing to fade.
She eventually accepted a plea deal, avoiding trial in exchange for a lengthy probation, mandatory therapy, and a restraining order that kept her permanently away from both Daniel and Maria. In interviews she later gave, ones nobody particularly wanted to watch.
She admitted that her jealousy had been rooted in a lifelong fear of not being enough on her own merit, a fear she had never once addressed until it cost her everything. Maria, for her part, refused to feel triumphant about any of it.
I don’t wish her a bad life.
She told Daniel one evening. I just hope
she finds peace somewhere far away from here.
Daniel looked at her for a long moment.
You’re a better person than I could ever be.
No, Maria said softly. I just know what it feels like to be underestimated.
I don’t want to become someone who does that to others.
Their story was healing, but one final chapter was still waiting to be written. Spring came slowly to Chicago that year.
The kind of gradual thaw that makes every small patch of green grass feel like a miracle after months of gray.
Maria’s casts came off.
Her ribs healed. The nightmares of falling grew less frequent, replaced eventually by ordinary dreams again. She had returned to work at the penthouse, though everything about the arrangement had changed.
Daniel had insisted she take a management role overseeing the estate rather than continuing as staff. A decision she resisted at first, uncomfortable
