Emily's POV
The garden was peaceful in the evening light, the kind of calm that made you forget, if only for a moment, that anything could be wrong in the world.
Mom walked slowly beside me, her arm looped through mine, while Nurse Mary followed a respectful distance behind. The treatment was working. Every day, Mom grew a little stronger, her steps a little steadier. It was the one bright spot in the darkness that had become my life in this mansion.
"The roses are lovely," Mom said, pausing to admire a particularly vibrant bloom. "Such beautiful colors."
I nodded, trying to focus on the flowers, on the warmth of the alresdy faded sun, on anything except the hollow ache that had taken up permanent residence in my chest. Since Victor's half-hearted almost-apology that had somehow made everything worse.
"Emily, darling, are you listening?"
"Sorry, Mom. What were you saying?"
She studied my face, her brow arched. "I was saying this place is beautiful. We're lucky to be here."
Before I could respond, I caught movement in the distance. A small figure running toward us across the lawn, moving erratically, desperately.
Lily.
My heart seized in my chest. Even from this distance, I could see she was crying, her small body shaking with sobs.
"Excuse me," I said quickly, already moving away from Mom and Mary. "I need to…"
I didn't finish the sentence. I was already running toward my daughter, my flats sinking into the soft grass with each step.
"Lily! Baby, what's wrong?"
She crashed into me before I could reach her, her arms wrapping around my waist as her whole body convulsed with tears. The sobs were the kind that stole breath, that came from somewhere deep and hurt.
"Sweetheart, what happened?" I dropped to my knees, not caring about the grass stains on my dress, and gathered her close. "Lily, talk to me."
But she couldn't. She just cried harder, her face buried in my shoulder, her small hands clutching my dress like I was the only person in a world that had suddenly become unbearable.
My own panic rose, sharp and immediate. Was she hurt? Had something happened? Had someone…
I pulled back enough to check her for injuries, my hands running over her arms, her legs, searching for blood or breaks or any sign of physical harm.
"Lily, please, baby. You're scaring me. Are you hurt?"
She shook her head but couldn't form words.
I cupped her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. Her cheeks streaked with tears, her nose running. She looked absolutely devastated.
"Sweetie," I said, keeping my voice soft but firm. "I need you to breathe, okay? In and out. That's it. Good girl. Now tell Mommy what happened. Why are you like this?"
The concern in my voice must have reached her, then the words came tumbling out in a rush.
"I... I was walking... around... and I saw... I saw this pretty old music player... in the art room..."She gulped air between phrases. "It looked so... so nice and I was... curious..."
My stomach dropped. Oh no.
"I went closer," Lily continued, her words coming faster now, tumbling over each other in her distress. "And there were records... and I picked one... it was by Elvis Presley..." Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "And I wanted to dance, Mommy! I love that song because it's your favorite and I love dancing…"
My heart clenched. She'd just been being a child. Just wanting to enjoy music and movement.
"The music started playing," she sobbed, "and I was dancing... and I thought... I thought if I got my fancy shoes... the ones Mr. Hawthorne bought me... I could dance better... so my feet wouldn't hurt... so I ran to get them..."
I already knew where this was going, but I let her finish, stroking her hair, holding her close.
"But when I came back..." Her voice cracked completely. "The player had fallen... it was on the floor... and broken... and I tried to lift it... I tried to fix it... but then Mr. Hawthorne came and he..."
She dissolved into fresh sobs, her whole body shaking.
"He was so mad, Mommy! He yelled at me! He said I broke something that belonged to his late wife... that it was irreplaceable... that I shouldn't touch things that don't belong to me...
"He said I was poorly raised, mom," Lily whispered, and those words…those specific, cruel words…made something in me snap. "Mommy, it's my fault. I shouldn't have touched it. I'm so sorry. I made Mr. Hawthorne mad at me. I ruined everything."
The rage that flooded through me was white-hot and instantaneous.
"No." The word came out sharp, fierce. I pulled back to look at her directly. "Lily Greene, you listen to me. None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it."
"But I broke his wife's…"
"I know baby," you did wrong by touching the recorder in the first place. But It was an accident that it broke.
"But Mr. Hawthorne was so angry..." Her bottom lip trembled. "Does he... does he hate us now, Mommy? Does he not want us here anymore?"
The question broke my heart. But beneath the heartbreak was fury.
"Mr. Hawthorne was in a bad mood," I managed, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "You can't hold that against him."
But even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. Knew I was making excuses for inexcusable behavior. Again.
"Does he not like us?" Lily asked, her voice small and broken.
"No, baby. No." I pulled her close again, pressing my cheek to her hair. "Mr. Hawthorne... he cares about you. Very much. He just... he doesn't always know how to show his feelings. Sometimes when people are hurting inside, they lash out at the people around them. It's not right, but it happens."
I felt like a hypocrite even saying it. Making excuses for Victor when what I really wanted to do was…
"Come here," I said, wiping her tears with my thumbs. "I want you to clean your eyes, okay? Now, I want you to go join Grandma and Nurse Mary for a walk in the garden. Can you do that for me?"
"But..."
"And after," I added, forcing brightness into my voice, "I'm going to go get you some of those special chocolate chip cookies from the kitchen. How does that sound?"
A tiny, watery smile appeared on her face. "The ones with the extra chocolate?"
"All the extra chocolate," I confirmed.
She nodded, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I watched as she walked back toward the garden, her steps still a little shaky, glancing back at me once with those worried eyes before Mom spotted her and called out to her.
The moment Lily was safely with Mom, the careful control I'd been maintaining shattered.
I turned toward the house, my hands clenched into fists, and the rage I'd been holding back surged forward like a tidal wave.
I didn't knock.
I should have. The old Emily, the one who'd spent three days in exile, who'd accepted Victor's non-apology, who'd played the perfect wife, she would have knocked. Would have waited for permission to enter.
But that Emily was gone, burned away by the sight of my daughter's tear-stained face and the echo of Victor's cruel words in my ears.
I shoved the study door open so hard it banged against the wall.
Victor was at the window, his back to me, shoulders rigid. He didn't turn around.
"I'd like to discuss what happened with Lily," I said, my voice tight with barely controlled fury.
"She broke my antique record player." His voice was emotionless. Still facing the window. "The one Sharon and I found in Paris. Do you have any idea how valuable that was? How irreplaceable?"
"I don't care about the record player."
That made him turn around, his eyes flashing with anger. "Of course you don't. But that child of yours..."
"Victor," I'm sorry my daughter had touched your record player without your permission, but she's just a child.
He continued as if I hadn't spoken, his words coming faster, sharper. "She doesn't know limits. No understanding that she can't just touch whatever she wants. She wanders around this house like she owns it, getting into things, disrupting..."
"She's a child, Victor!" The words exploded from me. "She's a curious seven-year-old who wanted to dance to some music! She wasn't being malicious or careless, she just wanted to enjoy a moment!"
"That's no excuse for…"
"Did you even let her explain?" I stepped closer, my whole body trembling with rage. "Did you give her one second to tell you what happened? Or did you just immediately start yelling at her?"
His jaw clenched. "She broke…"
"I don't give a damn what she broke!" I was shouting now, all pretense of control gone. "Victor!" Lily is a sweet, kind, innocent child who was trying her best to be careful! And instead of showing her an ounce of compassion, instead of asking what happened, you terrorized her! You made her feel small and worthless and wrong!"
"I didn't..."
"You told her she was poorly raised!" The words came out as a roar. "You looked at my daughter and you questioned how I raised her! You used her mistake as a weapon against both of us!"
Victor's face had gone pale. "I was angry…"
"So be angry at the situation! Be frustrated about the record player! Hell, be angry at me if you need someone to lash out at…God knows you've had plenty of practice with that!" I was crying now, angry tears streaming down my face. "But you leave my daughter out of it! You can treat me however you want, Victor. You can say cruel things. You can make me feel like nothing. But you do NOT get to do that to Lily!"
"Emily…"
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" My voice broke. "She thinks you hate her now. She asked me if you wanted us to leave. That sweet little girl who lights up when she sees you, who was so excited to have you take her to school, who talks about you constantly, she thinks you hate her because she made a mistake!"
The color drained from Victor's face completely. "I didn't mean..."
"What did you mean, then?" I demanded. "What exactly were you trying to accomplish by terrifying a seven-year-old? By making her cry so hard"
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. No words came out.
"That's what I thought," I said bitterly. "You weren't trying to accomplish anything. You were just lashing out because something reminded you of your pain, and it was easier to hurt a child than to deal with your own grief."
"That's not fair…"
"Fair?" I laughed, and it came out harsh and broken. "You want to talk about fair? Is it fair that she walks on eggshells trying not to upset you? Is it fair that every time she starts to trust you, to care about you, you do something to remind her that she's just an inconvenience in your precious world?"
"I don't think she's an inconvenience…"
"Then act like it!" I was shaking now, from rage and grief and exhaustion. "Stop pushing away everyone who cares about you! Stop using your pain as an excuse to hurt others! Stop making the people around you pay for a tragedy that wasn't their fault!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Victor sat there in his wheelchair, staring at me with an expression I'd never seen before. Shocked. Wounded. And underneath it all, something that looked like shame.
"You told me once," I said, my voice dropping to something quieter but no less intense, "not to let anyone extinguish my fire. Do you remember that?"
He nodded slowly.
"Well, that's exactly what I'm doing right now. I'm not letting you extinguish it. Not anymore." I straightened my shoulders, lifting my chin. "You can treat me however you want, Victor. I signed a contract, and I'll honor it. But my daughter? She didn't sign anything. And I will not...I will NEVER...stand by and watch you break her heart."
I turned toward the door, my whole body still trembling. "I'm not excusing what she did," I said. "But next time… just hear her out. That's all I'm asking."
"Emily." His voice was hoarse.
I stopped but didn't turn around.
"I'm sorry."
The words were so quiet I almost didn't hear them. But I did. And they changed nothing.
"Tell that to Lily," I said. "She's the one who deserves your apology."
I pulled the door open and walked straight into Jenkins.