Chapter 5
Eleanor did not look startled as Clara stepped into the warm, softly lit bedroom. The older woman merely lowered her hands, resting the heavy gold locket in her lap, and looked up with an expression of calm, unyielding patience.
“I didn't mean to intrude,” Clara murmured, her voice sounding small and defensive in the quiet space. “I was just getting some water.”
“Insomnia is an old companion of mine,” Eleanor replied smoothly, gesturing to the empty armchair near the window. “It visits when the past refuses to stay buried in the daylight. Please, sit. We haven’t had a proper conversation since you married my son.”
Clara hesitated, then walked over and sat stiffly on the edge of the armchair. Up close, Eleanor’s face wore the map of a long, difficult life, etched with deep lines around the eyes and mouth. Yet, her eyes were sharp, possessing a terrifying clarity that completely dismantled the stereotype of a frail grandmother.
“David is carrying a heavy load,” Eleanor said, her voice dropping to a softer, more reflective register. “He always has. Ever since his father passed, he took it upon himself to protect everyone around him, even when he needed protection the most. He builds walls, Clara. Sometimes he builds them so high that he forgets who is trapped inside with him.”
“He didn’t tell me you were moving in,” Clara said, unable to keep the hurt and resentment entirely out of her tone. “He just… dropped you off. It felt dishonest.”
“Fear makes honest men do cowardly things,” Eleanor observed quietly. She opened the locket again, holding it out slightly so Clara could catch a glimpse of the faded photograph inside—a stern-looking man in an old-fashioned suit standing next to a younger Eleanor holding a baby boy who looked remarkably like David. “He was afraid of losing you if you knew the truth. And he was afraid of losing me if he left me behind.”
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“What truth, Eleanor?” Clara asked, leaning forward, the tension in her shoulders tightening. “What is going on that requires all this secrecy? If we are going to live under the same roof, I deserve to know.”
Eleanor looked up from the locket, her gaze locking onto Clara’s with a piercing intensity. “My apartment didn’t just need renovations, Clara. Someone broke in. Twice. And the police found notes left under my door. Notes telling me that my past was about to catch up with my son.”
