Chapter 3
Upstairs, the house felt strangely vast and hollow. Richard sat on the edge of Clara’s pastel-pink twin bed, watching his daughter as she drifted into a restless, exhausted sleep. Her skin had returned from a dangerous crimson to a pale, freckled ivory, though faint red marks still lingered around her neck where her small fingers had clawed for air. Every rise and fall of her chest was a minor miracle, a reassuring rhythm that Richard tracked with obsessive vigilance. Downstairs, Eleanor and Margaret were locked in a conversation that needed to happen without the children present.
Eleanor stood by the bedroom door, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. Her hands were still trembling, hidden inside the pockets of her purple shirt. "She won't admit the full extent of it," Eleanor murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the nightlight. "She thinks she was doing us a favor. That’s the most terrifying part, Richard. She genuinely believes she was curing her."
Richard rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tautness of his muscles. "Curing her by asphyxiation? That’s not ignorance, Eleanor. That’s a profound detachment from reality. We can’t have her in this house anymore. Not right now. Not until we understand what else she might have tampered with."
The words felt heavy, carrying the weight of familial exile. Margaret had lived in the converted carriage house down the lane for five years, ever since her husband had passed away. She was woven into the daily fabric of their lives, picking the children up from school, baking cookies, sharing Sunday dinners. To cut her off was to amputate a limb of their routine, messy and painful. Yet, looking at Clara’s sleeping form, the alternative was unthinkable. Lucas appeared at the end of the hallway, his striped shirt catching the shadows. He looked older tonight, the carefree innocence of childhood stripped away by the harsh glare of adult malice.
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"Can I come in?" Lucas asked softly.
Richard nodded, patting the mattress beside him. Lucas climbed up, crawling under the comforter next to his sister, pressing his shoulder against her arm. They were safe for tonight, but the fortress had been breached from within, and the locks would never feel secure again.
