Chapter 6 - The Broken Door
By the second week, the house had begun to change.
I hired a new interior team to clean the heavy velvet drapes, replaced the dead paintings in the hallway with bright, modern landscapes, and brought fresh white lilies into the foyer every morning.
Julian and Mia had attached themselves to me entirely. Every afternoon after school, Mia would sit on the rug in my private study, drawing pictures while I reviewed the estate’s operational ledgers. Julian began bringing his homework to my desk, asking for help with his history essays.
Sophia was slower, but she had started leaving her bedroom door open when I walked past, occasionally showing me her charcoal sketches.
Only Leo remained a wall of ice.
He missed meals, skipped his private tutoring sessions, and spent his nights in his room listening to loud rock music that vibrated through the floorboards of the East Wing.
On a rainy Thursday night, Arthur was delayed at the docks dealing with a delayed shipment.
At 9:30 PM, I walked down the quiet hallway toward Leo’s room.
The music was blasting—heavy, distorted guitar riffs that shook the glass panes of the sconces along the wall.
I knocked loudly. No answer.
I turned the handle and pushed the door open.
The room was a disaster. Clothes were scattered across the floor, books were piled high, and near the open balcony doors, rain was blowing inside, soaking the rug.
Leo was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a half-empty bottle of dark liquor, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and twisted with a wild, desperate pain.
"Get out!" Leo screamed over the music, standing up so fast he nearly stumbled. "Get out of my room!"
I walked past him, marched over to the stereo on his desk, and shut it off.
The sudden silence in the room was deafening, filled only by the rush of rain outside.
"I said get out!" Leo yelled, stepping toward me, his fists clenched at his sides. "You think because my dad bought you, you can come in here and play mom?! You're nothing! You're just a replacement he paid for!"
I didn't step back. I didn't shout.
I walked over to the open balcony doors, closed them, and locked the latch, blocking out the wet wind. Then I turned and walked straight up to him.
"I am not playing mom, Leo," I said softly, looking up into his furious, tear-streaked face. "And I am not replacing Clara. Nobody can replace your mother."
Leo flinched as if I had struck him. "Don't say her name!"
"Why?" I asked gently. "Because it hurts? Because you think if you stop screaming, you'll forget what her voice sounded like?"
A terrible, broken sob escaped Leo’s throat. The liquor bottle slipped from his hand, shattering against the wooden floorboards, splashing dark liquid across his sneakers.
He collapsed back onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands, his broad shoulders shaking violently as three years of suppressed, agonizing grief finally broke through his angry armor.
I knelt on the floor before him, stepping over the broken glass, and placed my hands gently over his trembling knees.
"It's okay, Leo," I whispered, tears filling my own eyes as I watched the boy shatter. "It's okay to miss her. You don't have to be strong all the time."
Leo leaned forward, dropping his head onto my shoulder, weeping uncontrollably like a child, his hands gripping the navy wool of my dress.
I held him in the dark room while the rain beat against the glass, rubbing his back softly, holding the broken pieces of Arthur’s oldest son together until the sobbing slowly subsided into quiet, exhausted breaths.
Behind us, in the shadowed doorway of the bedroom, a tall figure stood motionless.
May you like
Arthur had returned from the docks.
He stood in the dark, watching his broken son holding onto me, his face pale, his dark eyes glistening with unshed tears.
