Chapter 6: A Daughter’s Courage
Later that morning, sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the upstairs nursery, bathing the room in a warm, comforting glow. Lily sat cross-legged on her floral duvet, meticulously brushing the matted fur of her stuffed bunny. A soft knock sounded at the door before it swung open to reveal Damian holding a small tray with sliced fruit and warm milk. He smiled gently, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and handing her the tray.
"How are you feeling this morning, sweet pea?" Damian asked, brushing a stray lock of dark hair away from her forehead.
"I'm okay, Daddy," Lily said quietly, taking a small bite of an apple slice. She looked up at him with those impossibly wise eyes. "Is the bad lady gone?"
"She left the house early this morning," Damian answered honestly, choosing his words with care. "But we need to talk about what happened last night, Lily. Do you remember when you told me about Vivian coming into your room?"
Lily nodded solemnly, setting the apple slice down on the tray. "It was three nights ago. I woke up because I heard a click on the big window latch. I thought it was the wind, but then I saw someone standing by mommy's jewelry box on the dresser."
Damian felt his heart tighten in his chest. "Did you see her face clearly, Lily?"
"I did," the little girl said without hesitation. "She was wearing that blue dress she wore to dinner last night. And she had a little flashlight. She opened the small velvet box and took out the star ring. When she saw me sitting up in bed, she came over and whispered in my ear. She said if I told you, the bad monsters would come and take my stuffed bunny away forever."
Damian pulled his daughter into a tight embrace, burying his face in her soft hair. A fierce wave of protective rage surged through him. Vivian had not only stolen from them and poisoned his wife; she had terrorized a motherless child to cover her tracks.
"She won't hurt us anymore, Lily," Damian whispered fiercely against her ear. "I promise you, Daddy is going to make sure of that."
As he stepped out of the nursery a few minutes later, Mrs. Gable was waiting in the hallway with a secure manila folder in her hands.
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"Mr. Damian," the housekeeper said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. "While you were in the study, I was cleaning out the guest suite where Vivian stayed during her visits. I found this tucked underneath the mattress pad."
Damian took the folder, flipping back the heavy cardstock cover. Inside lay Clara’s original medical diary—the handwritten notes detailing her declining health, her daily symptoms, and her growing suspicion that the herbal teas Vivian brought her every evening tasted faintly of bitter almonds.
