Chapter 7: The Carriage House Visit
By mid-afternoon, the house was clean of all suspect provisions, but the emotional debris remained scattered everywhere. Richard knew they couldn't simply avoid Margaret forever; the carriage house was barely fifty yards down the gravel drive, visible from the kitchen window. Leaving the situation unresolved would cast a permanent pall over their daily lives, turning their home into an armed camp of suspicion. He grabbed his jacket, zipped it against the crisp autumn chill, and told Eleanor he was going down to talk to her mother.
The walk down the gravel drive felt longer than usual. The leaves crunched beneath his boots, a sound that seemed entirely too loud in the quiet afternoon. Margaret’s carriage house was neat, surrounded by well-tended flower beds that she spent hours weeding. As Richard approached the front porch, he saw her sitting in a wooden rocking chair through the sheer lace curtains, a cup of tea resting on the small table beside her. He didn't bother knocking; he simply turned the brass knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the warm, cluttered parlor.
Margaret looked up, startled. Her hands fluttered to her chest, her gray hair catching the light from the side window. She didn't look defiant now; she looked old, frail, and profoundly defensive. "Richard," she said, her voice dropping an octave. "I didn't expect you so soon."
"I found the honey, Margaret," Richard said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, though his fists were clenched deep inside his jacket pockets. "And the flour. We found all of it."
Margaret’s eyes darted away, her chin lifting slightly in a last-ditch effort to maintain her dignity. "I was only trying to help. You two are ruining her life with all these restrictions. She’s a healthy girl. She needs to live in the real world."
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"The real world nearly killed her yesterday afternoon," Richard replied, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "You didn't help her, Margaret. You nearly murdered her. And then you lied by omission until Lucas caught you red-handed. We are changing the locks. We are suspending all contact until you undergo a formal psychiatric evaluation. If you ever come near our children again without supervision, I will slap a restraining order on you so fast your head will spin."
Margaret stared at him, the reality of the ultimatum finally piercing her stubborn armor. Her lower lip trembled, and for a moment, Richard thought she might break down and beg for forgiveness. Instead, she turned her face away toward the window, retreating behind a wall of wounded pride.
