“He has episodes.”
“He has panic.”
“You’ve known him three days.”
“And I knew last night he was more afraid of me leaving than of being punished.”
Daniel looked away. On a shelf, a family photograph lay turned face down. Natalie did not touch it.
“Why have seven caregivers left?”
“Some were frightened,” Daniel admitted. “Of what happens around him.”
“Then why keep changing the people he depends on?”
“I did not ask them to leave.”
“No, but you expected them to.”
That landed harder than she expected.
A small knock came at the door. Lucas stood outside holding a folded piece of paper — a child’s drawing. A tall woman in gray stood beside a small boy. A man in a blue suit stood several feet away. At the far edge, another woman drawn in yellow crayon — her face scratched out until the paper tore.
Natalie pointed gently. “Who is that?”
Daniel went completely still. Lucas looked at his father, then whispered something Natalie was not supposed to hear: “The person Dad says I’m not allowed to ask about.”
The Room at the End of the Hall
At noon, Lucas took Natalie’s hand and pulled her toward the second floor, to a long corridor overlooking the garden. At the far end stood a red-painted door. Everything else in the mansion was cream, walnut, marble, or black iron. The red door looked like a wound in the wall.
“Mama’s room,” Lucas said.
Evelyn’s shoes clicked sharply behind them. “Lucas, step away from that door. It has been closed for two years. Mr. Brooks has ordered that no one enters.”
“She left from there,” Lucas said. “She said she’d come back.”
Then something slid from beneath the red door. All three of them stared down. It was a small white envelope. On the front, in faded blue ink, was one name: Lucas.
The Woman in the Photograph
Lucas reached the envelope first and pressed it against his chest. Evelyn demanded it. Natalie held out her hand instead: “Do you want me to keep it safe until we ask your dad?” Lucas placed it in her palm.
Daniel arrived within minutes. He looked at the handwriting and went pale. Lucas moved closer. “Is it from Mama?”
Daniel’s thumb pressed into the paper. “Lucas, go downstairs.” The boy’s hopeful expression collapsed. Natalie touched his shoulder. “Daniel,” she said — the first time she had used his first name. “Answer him.”
“Yes,” Daniel finally said. “Yes, it is her handwriting.”
“Then read it.”
Daniel could not. Not would not — could not. His hands, steady in every other moment, trembled around the envelope.
Inside was a single sheet folded around a photograph. The photo slipped free and landed face up on the carpet: a young woman with dark eyes and a wide, unguarded smile, sitting on the mansion steps holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. Daniel sat beside her, younger and smiling in a way Natalie had never seen.
Lucas dropped to his knees. “That’s her.”
Daniel read the letter silently, his expression changing line by line. “What does it say?” Lucas begged. Daniel folded the paper. “Nothing you need to hear.”
“You cannot keep doing that,” Natalie said.
“Did Mama leave because I was bad?” Lucas asked.