13. Evie
13
EVIE
It’s my birthday today. At least, that’s what my new driver’s license says. August 15—a random date Rose picked because “you look like a summer baby.”
My real birthday passed three months ago. Celebrated in a Nebraska motel room with grocery store cupcakes and prayers that Luca wouldn’t find us.
But Violet and Daisy burst into my room singing “Happy Birthday,” and their joy is real enough. Some lies are worth telling when they put those smiles on my daughters’ faces.
“Mama!” Violet bounces on my bed. “You’re old now!”
“Thanks, baby.” I pull her close, breathing in her strawberry shampoo. “Just what every woman wants to hear on her birthday.”
“She means you’re wise,” Daisy corrects, ever the diplomat. “Like how trees get rings every year.”
“Speaking of years,” I keep my voice casual. This is our morning ritual: “How old are you girls now?”
“I’m six!” Daisy says proudly. “Born April twelfth.”
“Four!” Violet raises four sticky fingers. “December third!”
New birthdays, new names, new lives. They recite them like favorite stories now, not lies that keep us alive.
My phone buzzes. Rose’s message makes me smile: “Happy birthday, Evie Ashbourne. Coming over with cake.”
The name still feels strange sometimes, like clothes that almost fit but not quite. Elena Delgado sits in the back of my mind, whispering about real birthdays and real names and the man who made us run.
Rose arrives as I’m fixing breakfast, carrying a chocolate cake that probably costs too much—but who cares when it’s Luca’s money?
“Blow out the candles, Mama!” Violet claps.
“Before school?” But I’m already reaching for matches.
“It’s tradition.” Rose’s eyes hold understanding. We both know it’s not, but some traditions are worth inventing.
The girls sing again, their voices filling my kitchen. When I close my eyes to make a wish, I almost forget it’s not my real birthday.
Almost.
Work feels different. The gallery’s staff keeps giving me odd looks. Chase disappears whenever I get near his studio. Zane, usually glued to my office door with excuses to chat, is mysteriously absent.
Even Rick acts strange, buried in paperwork that somehow requires my filing cabinet to be off-limits.
Only my daughters’ morning ritual grounds me. Their innocent acceptance of our new story makes it feel real, and it makes me feel real.
“Don’t forget who you are. But remember who you’re becoming,” Rose texts around noon.
“Easier said than done when my old life creeps in like smoke under doors,” I whisper to myself as I recall the night I broke down in my office. Good thing Rick was present to pull me back together.
The sex wasn’t planned. It just happened. It did feel good to be held together by strong arms and fucked in a way that pulled me back together.
It doesn’t take long before memories of Luca’s indifference on my real birthday surface. I remember the forgotten dates, the cruel remarks about aging, and the way he used my birthday to remind me that I was his property.
But then Rose sends a photo of a gift Daisy made after school. It’s a handmade card covered in glitter, and I remember why we ran, why we became new people with new birthdays and new chances.
My girls rarely ask about their father. He was absent in their lives, and his existence is slowly being forgotten now. It is a huge win for me.
“Just need to finish these invoices.” Rick barely looks up when I mention leaving. “But could you grab those supply boxes from the basement first? Need to check inventory.”
Something’s definitely up. Rick never handles inventory—that’s my job. Chase hasn’t emerged from his studio all afternoon, and even Zane’s suspicious absence feels staged. But I play along, heading for the basement stairs.
The light switch doesn’t work when I reach the bottom. The basement feels different in the dark—colder, emptier. My hand instinctively goes to my phone for light, old fears surfacing.
“Rick?” My voice echoes. “Power’s out down here.”
No answer. Just silence and darkness. My heart pounds as I take a step back toward the stairs. Years of running make you jumpy in the dark.
Then I hear movement above. Footsteps. Multiple sets.
I’m halfway up the stairs when the gallery goes completely dark. For a terrifying moment, I’m frozen—caught between fight and flight.
“Rick?” This time, my voice shakes.
Suddenly, lights burst on, and voices fill the space. “Surprise!” The gallery transforms from darkness to celebration in an instant, leaving me gripping the stair rail as my heart tries to settle.
They’re all there.
Daisy. Violet. Rose stands behind them with a cake that puts her morning one to shame. The Cross brothers grin like they’ve pulled off a master heist, and other staff and members of the MC complete the crowd.
“Surprise!” Violet launches herself at me. “We kept the secret all day!”
“All day?” I lift her, fighting tears. “More like all week, from the looks of this.”
The gallery’s transformed. Fairy lights twinkle where flash art usually hangs. Food covers a new table, and is that Teller by the door?
“Couldn’t miss it.” He hugs me one-handed, and his daughter Piper is shy behind him. “Though Ayla and my brothers send regrets. Kind of short notice.”
“Your fault for being so secretive about your birthday,” Chase says, but his eyes are soft.
I don’t correct them. Don’t mention that August 15th means nothing except what’s printed on fake documents. The love in this room feels real enough to make it true.
“Presents!” Violet tugs my hand. “Open mine first!”
She’s made me a star chart, complete with glitter constellations. Daisy’s card contains a carefully written poem about mothers and strength. Each gift brings fresh tears—Rose’s silver bracelet and cards from the gallery staff.
“Our turn.” Rick’s voice carries authority even here. “Outside.”
The brothers exchange looks that spell trouble. Good trouble, from their grins.
“Close your eyes,” Zane instructs.
“With you three? Not likely.”
“Trust us.” Chase’s hand on my back guides me forward. “Just for a minute.”
The night air hits my face as they lead me out. Something rumbles—an engine?
“Okay,” Rick says. “Look.”
The motorcycle gleams under streetlights. Sleek lines, midnight paint with subtle purple undertones. A beast of a machine that makes my heart race.
“You didn’t.”
“We did.” Zane sounds proud. “All three of us.”
“Happy birthday,” Chase adds softly.
I touch the chrome, unable to speak. Luca never let me near bikes. Said they weren’t for proper wives. But here’s freedom on two wheels, gifted by three men who see me.
“She’s crying!” Violet announces to everyone. “Happy tears or sad tears, Mama?”
“Happy.” I pull her close and reach for Daisy too. “Definitely happy.”
But there’s sadness too. For the woman I was, who never got real birthday celebrations. For Elena, who let a man dim her light year after year.
Rose hugs me next, whispering, “You deserve this. All of it.”
The party moves inside. The cake gets cut. My daughters charm everyone, especially Piper.
Through it all, the brothers stay close. Like they understand that sometimes happiness hurts when you’re not used to it.
Later, they teach me the basics—kickstand, clutch, gears. They promise proper lessons soon. I sit on my bike, feeling its power, and think maybe August 15 isn’t such a bad birthday after all.
“Thank you.” I catch each brother’s eye in turn. “Not just for this. For everything.”
Their smiles say they understand. Some gifts mean more than chrome and engines, and some celebrations heal more than the day they mark.
“Mama!” Violet calls from inside. “Come see what Uncle Teller brought!”
Uncle Teller. These men, this town, these moments—all built on carefully crafted lies. But watching my daughters bloom here, feeling the brothers’ steady presence, I realize that maybe Rose is right.
Sometimes, who you’re becoming matters more than who you were.
I head inside, leaving Elena’s ghost with the bike. Tonight belongs to Evie Ashbourne, whoever she might be.