Chapter 13
The morning sun rose over Blackwood Manor, casting a warm, golden light across the charred timbers and fallen stone debris. The police tape was still in place, fluttering gently in the crisp morning breeze, but the frantic flashing red lights of the emergency vehicles were gone.
Inside Room 412 of the county hospital, the atmosphere was entirely different from the sterile tension of the previous days. The heavy metal leg braces sat in a cardboard box near the closet, no longer needed for the immediate future. A team of orthopedic specialists had visited an hour earlier, confirming that with proper physical therapy and the removal of the psychological trauma that had kept his muscles locked in a state of perpetual panic, Leo would eventually be able to walk with crutches, and perhaps even unassisted in time.
Leo sat propped up in bed, eating a bowl of oatmeal with a steady hand. He looked healthier, the hollow shadows beneath his eyes replaced by a faint, natural color in his cheeks.
The door opened quietly, and Martha stepped inside. She was wearing a clean, pressed gray dress—not her maid uniform, but simple civilian clothes she had purchased the day before. Her hair was still pulled back in its familiar bun, but her face was free of soot and ash.
Leo looked up, a genuine smile breaking across his face. “You look different,” the boy said softly.
Martha smiled back, walking over to the bedside and pulling up a chair. “Just regular clothes, Leo. No aprons, no mops. At least not for a while.”
“Detective Vance was here earlier,” Leo said, setting his spoon down on the tray. “He said Eleanor’s trial is going to start next month, and that her lawyers can’t bail her out because all her assets have been frozen by the federal court.”
“He told me too,” Martha replied gently, taking one of the boy’s hands in hers. Her fingers were warm and steady. “The Blackwood estate is being placed into an emergency trust overseen by the county probate court, with provisions for your medical care and rehabilitation. You’re going to be taken care of, Leo. Truly taken care of.”
Leo looked down at his lap, his expression turning thoughtful. “Dad used to talk about fixing up the old south garden before... before he changed. He said he wanted to plant roses there.”
Martha squeezed his hand affectionately. “Then when you’re strong enough, we’ll plant them together. Whatever is left of the manor, we can rebuild it—or we can start somewhere new. The choice is yours.”
May you like
Leo looked up, his dark eyes meeting Martha’s with a quiet, profound sense of trust that had been denied to him for years. For the first time since the fire, the boy looked not like a prisoner of a burning house, but like a child with a future.
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