Page 92 of The Misfit

“Lee’s learning to be normal because of you,” she explains gently like I’m a child. “He’s drinking less, fighting less. He’s becoming an honorable man. It’s just that he’ll never fully transform while he’s …” She pauses delicately. “Connected to the source of questionable new habits.”

My heart floats into my stomach. She’s right. Lee counts things now because of me. Cleans things because of me. Measures spaces and checks surfaces and follows patterns—all because of me.

“He’s not transforming,” I manage. “He’s just learning to understand?—”

“Understanding isn’t enough.” Katherine’s smile is almost kind. “The Sterling name carries certain expectations. Lee needs to be more than understanding. He needs to be perfect. And he can’t be perfect while mimicking your … peculiarities. He’s always had some of the impulses, counting occasionally, humming the same strain of song over and over endless.” She says it like she’s exhausted just thinking about it. “But he does it more with you now, and I need that to stop.”

The worst part is, her logic makes a twisted kind of sense. Lee does count more now. Does check things more often. Does measure spaces like I do.

“He’s happy,” I whisper, but that sounds weak even to my own ears.

“Is he?” Katherine raises one perfect eyebrow. “Or is he just adapting to your world because he cares for you? Picking up your habits because he wants to make you comfortable? Becoming something he’s not because he thinks he needs to protect you?”

Each question lands like a blade, slicing me to the bone.

“I’ve watched my son try to fit himself into other people’s worlds before,” she continues softly. “Seen him twist himself into knots trying to be what others need and want. But this time… this time, he’s actually changing. Actually becoming someone who could lead the Sterling legacy. And it’s because of you.”

She smiles, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Her checkbook appears like magic, sleek and black and terrifying in its implications. She opens it with deliberate care, her Mont Blanc pen clicking with surgical precision.

“What’s your price?” she questions, like we’re suddenly negotiating a business deal. “Whatever you think your future with Lee is worth. Whatever dreams you’re holding on to. Whatever plans you’ve made. I’ll double it.”

The casual cruelty of it steals my breath. How do you put a price on the way Lee counts ceiling tiles with me at three a.m.? On how he remembers to sanitize everything three times? On the sound of his voice when he tells me my broken pieces make perfect sense?

You fucking don’t.

“I’m not …” My voice cracks. “This isn’t about money.”

“Oh, but it is … everything is about money, dear.” She begins writing, the scratch of her pen against the paper makes my skin crawl. “That’s the first lesson of becoming a Sterling. One you’ll never fully learn, I’m afraid.”

She casually adds zeros to her number. More zeros than I’ve ever seen on a check. Enough zeros to pay for graduate school. To start a new life. To become someone who doesn’t need to count things or wear gloves or measure spaces.

“Think of it as an investment,” Katherine continues, her voice gentle but firm. “In Lee’s future. In your future. In the chance for both of you to become who you’re meant to be.”

“And who is that?” The words taste like ashes.

“For Lee? The heir the Sterling name deserves. Controlled, powerful, suitable.” She looks up, blue eyes sharp as ice. “For you? Someone who doesn’t have to pretend to be normal. Who doesn’t have to force herself into a world that will never fully accept her.”

I’m both angry and sad. Angry at the audacity, and sad that Lee’s own mother would go to such lengths to get rid of me. And still the check sits between us like a loaded gun.

“He’ll hate you for this,” I whisper.

“Perhaps.” She shrugs elegantly. “But we both know he’ll thrive without you. Continue the progress you’ve inspired, without the complications your relationship brings.”

Complications.Like I’m a disease or something.

“He’s changing,” Katherine presses. “Growing. But you know that he’ll never fully bloom while trying to adapt to your shadows. Your patterns. Your fears.”

Each word hits like truth, like bullets, like everything I’ve been afraid of since this stopped being pretend.

“The choice is yours,” she adds, sliding the check toward me. “Stay, and watch him become a shadow of himself trying to live in your world. Or leave, and give him the chance to become everything he could be.”

The numbers blur as tears fill my eyes. Everything he could be is a man who drank himself through a party that ended in blood and pain and embarrassment. That’s the man she wants him to be?

“Take it.” Her voice softens with something almost like kindness. “Take it and disappear. Let him go. Let him grow. Let him be normal.”

Normal.

The one thing I can never be.

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