Page 104 of The Clifftop Cottage

“L. H. Leah Hayes,” Maisie replied promptly. Then paused. “Actually … L. C .H. Charlotte’s her middle name.”

Then a small shadow had crossed her face.

“What’s wrong?” Erica had asked.

“Just … Mummy and Daddy not being married. I’m the only one in my class whose parents aren’t.”

Erica had put an arm around her. “That doesn’t matter. They love you. That’s what counts.”

Maisie had thought about that seriously, chocolate still on her lip.

“Well,” she’d said finally, “I’m still hers.”

Still hers.

It had sounded simple then.

Now it felt weighty.

Names shifted. Papers were signed. Rings removed. Mothers vanished across continents.

But something in that small declaration had been steadier than all of it.

Belonging without ceremony.

She looked back at the wall.

I. G.

Not hidden. Not disguised beneath a married name.

Just there.

Isobel Grant.

That was insistence, of a woman saying: I was here.

Not: I belonged to him.

The thought unsettled Erica.

Because what had she been carving, metaphorically, all these years?

Proof of achievement. Control. Independence. That she was Steven’s?

Not necessarily presence.

Not necessarily staying.

The kitchen felt very small.

Leah’s voice remained.

I think you’re scared.

Erica pressed her fingers to her temples.

Maybe she was scared.