Chapter 8 - The Last Birthday
Vincent died nine months later.
He died in his sleep.
No gunshots.
No betrayal.
No dramatic final battle.
Just silence.
Peace.
The kind of death people like Vincent rarely received.
His funeral was massive.
Politicians came.
Business leaders came.
People I had never seen before stood in the rain.
And thousands whispered about the man Chicago had feared for decades.
I stood beside his coffin.
On his chest was a white rose.
I placed another beside it.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered.
It was the first time I had ever said it to him.
After the funeral, his attorney gave me a small box.
“This is for you.”
Inside was the final gift.
A handwritten birthday card.
October 14.
My name.
The message was short.
Ellie,
You once asked me why I kept sending flowers.
Because I knew what it felt like to have everyone remember what you could do for them and forget who you were.
I could not change your family's behavior.
I could not give you back the years.
But I could remind you once a year that you mattered.
I hope that eventually you stop needing the reminder.
Love,
Vincent
Beneath the card was a key.
Not a bank key.
Not a property key.
A house key.
The address was on the north side.
I knew the house.
My mother's old house.
The one that had been sold after she died.
I thought it was gone forever.
It wasn't.
Vincent had bought it.
And now it was mine.
I stood outside that house alone.
Then I heard a car.
Diane stepped out.
She looked nervous.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded.
We walked through the rooms where we had grown up.
She touched the kitchen counter.
“Mom used to bake here.”
“Yes.”
“I remember your birthdays.”
I looked at her.
She cried.
“I didn't forget.”
“Then why didn't you say anything?”
“Because every year I thought we'd do something later.”
I understood.
Later is one of the cruelest words in the English language.
You think you have forever.
Then suddenly there is no later.
Diane hugged me.
“I am sorry.”
I hugged her back.
“I know.”
Thomas joined us.
Then Kevin.
Even my father.
For the first time, we sat in the same room without someone asking me for money.
We talked.
We remembered.
We laughed.
We cried.
And when midnight came, Diane brought out a small cake.
A raspberry cake.
My favorite.
She had remembered.
For the first time in twenty years.
I blew out the candles.
Everyone applauded.
Then Thomas looked at me.
“What do you wish for?”
I smiled.
May you like
“Nothing.”
Because I finally had everything I had once thought I didn't deserve.
