Chapter 13: The Kitchen Table
The cavernous kitchen of the Vance estate was a masterpiece of stainless steel, marble countertops, and minimalist design, yet it felt entirely devoid of domestic warmth. Victoria stood by the kitchen island, plating a simple meal of roasted chicken and vegetables she had quickly heated from the pantry reserves. Lily sat at the massive oak dining table nearby, her scuffed sneakers dangling a foot above the floor. She had finally set the black leather handbag down on the chair beside her, though her hand remained resting protectively on its strap.
Victoria placed a plate in front of the girl, along with a glass of cold milk. She pulled out the chair directly across from her and sat down, a gesture of radical equality that would have shocked any of her corporate board members.
Lily looked down at the food, then up at her aunt. She picked up her fork, hesitating for a moment before taking a tentative bite. The silence between them was no longer suffocating; it had softened into something contemplative.
“The lawyer called while we were driving over,” Victoria said quietly, resting her hands flat on the smooth wood of the table. “The emergency placement hearing is canceled. The judge reviewed the reinstated trust documents Miller submitted. You’re legally under my temporary custody until the probate court finalizes the estate division next month.”
Lily chewed slowly, swallowing before she spoke. “Does that mean you’re going to send me to a private boarding school in Switzerland like you did with your business partners’ kids?”
Victoria let out a short, dry breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “No, Lily. I think we’ve had quite enough of boarding schools and hiding behind institutions for one lifetime. You stay here. We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.”
May you like
Lily reached into the open bag beside her and pulled out the crumpled handwritten note from her mother, smoothing it out on the table once more. She traced the ink with her thumb. “Mama said you used to laugh a lot before Grandpa died. She said you loved painting watercolor landscapes down by the river.”
Victoria stared at the piece of paper, her chest tightening with a sharp, long-dormant ache. The cold, impenetrable armor she had worn for fifteen years felt heavy and useless, sliding off her shoulders piece by piece. She reached across the table, her fingers gently touching the edge of the note, right beside the small, soot-stained hand of her niece.
