Get Away From Her

Rain had turned the windows of Alderwick Glass House into black mirrors.

Beyond them, the lake was invisible except when lightning revealed it in flat silver pieces. Inside, the playroom glowed with the false tenderness rich people pay decorators to create: pale mats, low shelves, wooden blocks, soft animals arranged in rows, and a crib polished so clean it looked ceremonial rather than used.

Clara Vale had not slept in two nights.

Her daughter, Rose, was in the nursery down the corridor with the night nurse. That was the only reason Clara had managed to stand when Evelyn ordered her into the playroom. She would endure almost anything if Rose stayed out of the room.

Evelyn Vale stood over her in an ash-gray blouse and charcoal skirt, tall and thin and severe enough to make age look like a blade. Her silver-white hair was pinned in a low bun. Her fingers were cold around Clara's upper arms.

'Answer me,' Evelyn said.

Clara's knees had hit the mat when Evelyn shook her the second time. She tried to pull away, but grief and weeks of fear had stripped the strength from her body. Her cream cotton dress clung to her legs. One side of her black hair had fallen across her face. She crossed her arms over her head without meaning to, a movement so small and ashamed it made her hate herself.

'I didn't take anything,' Clara whispered.

'Liar.'

Evelyn hauled her upward by the arms. A stuffed rabbit toppled from the shelf. Wooden blocks rolled in bright little knocks across the floor.

'My son built this house,' Evelyn hissed. 'My son paid for every inch of this glass prison you now pretend to mourn in. And now you think you can keep his child, his money, his name?'

Clara's mouth trembled. 'Rose is my daughter.'

Evelyn smiled without warmth. 'For now.'

The white corridor beam cut across the floor as the playroom door opened.

Caleb Rourke filled the doorway.

He was too large for the delicate architecture of the house. Deep navy sweater, dark denim, black boots dripping rainwater onto the threshold. His black buzz cut was damp, his thick beard shadowed his jaw, and the scar through his right eyebrow made his face look carved from something the mansion could not polish.

For one second, Clara thought she had imagined him.

Then his eyes found the red marks on her arms.

Something in him changed.

'Caleb,' Clara breathed.

Evelyn turned, annoyed rather than afraid. 'Who let you in?'

He crossed the room in three heavy steps.

Evelyn lifted her chin. 'This is private family business.'

Caleb took her wrists off Clara with controlled force, not a blow, not a rage fit, but a clean separation. He moved his body between them before Clara even understood she had been released.

Evelyn snapped toward him, hand raised as if she still owned the room.

He drove her back with one hard defensive shove into the toy shelf. Blank picture books slid out. Soft animals tumbled. The shelf groaned but held. Evelyn dropped to the padded mat, shocked more than hurt, her dignity scattered with the toys.

Clara crawled behind Caleb and folded against the side of his boot, sobbing once into her hands.

Evelyn stared up at him. 'You are going to pay for this.'

Caleb lowered himself just enough to grip the front of her blouse and hold her at distance. He did not choke. He did not strike. He made a wall where she had expected emptiness.

His voice came out deep and final.

'Get away from her.'