Chapter 8 - The Desolate House
The nightmare began on a Tuesday morning.
The moment Leo’s SUV disappeared beyond the gates, Victoria dismissed nearly everyone inside the house.
“The chef may go. The housekeeper may go. The upstairs girls may go.” She stood in the foyer, sipping a mimosa though it was not yet ten. “I want quiet.”
The head housekeeper frowned. “Mr. Rossi prefers a full staff when Miss Lily is home.”
Victoria’s smile sharpened. “Mr. Rossi is not here.”
No one argued after that. Only Beatrice was ordered to remain.
“Someone has to scrub the baseboards,” Victoria said, looking at her over the rim of her glass. “The exercise will do you good.”
By noon, Beatrice was on her knees in the dining room, scrubbing the oak floor by hand. Sweat dampened her collar. Her knees ached under her weight.
Her cheek burned with humiliation, but she kept moving.
Then she heard paper tearing. It was a small sound.
Then Lily cried out.
Beatrice dropped the brush and struggled to her feet.
In the living room, Victoria stood above Lily with the child’s sketchbook in both hands. Bright crayon pages covered the rug.
Drawings of flowers. Drawings of Beatrice in a yellow apron. Drawings of Leo with a crown and a crooked smile. Drawings of Lily’s mother as an angel with blue wings.
Victoria ripped another page in half.
“I told you,” she hissed, “not to leave your pathetic little pictures everywhere.”
May you like
Lily clutched her stuffed rabbit. “That one was for Daddy.”
“Your father doesn’t want trash.”
