The mansion felt heavy, each ticking clock echo a countdown to the 7:00 PM dinner. I was in the main hallway, checking the floral arrangements, when Marcus approached me. He looked pale, his shoulders slumped.
“Mother,” he began, his voice low, “it’s not too late. You can still step down gracefully. Avoid all this… public humiliation.”
He wrung his hands, avoiding my gaze. He was still worried about appearances, about the image Victoria had so carefully constructed for him.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice calm, almost detached. “Did you know Victoria ordered the destruction of Maya’s project this afternoon?”
He flinched, his eyes darting to mine, then away. “No! Of course not. She… she said they were just moved. To corporate storage. To keep the house clean.” His words came out in a rush, a clumsy defense. “You know Victoria, she’s very particular about clutter.”
A hollow ache spread through my chest, replacing the anger for a moment. He truly believed it. Or perhaps, he chose to believe it. He had always been so easily manipulated by Victoria, so eager to maintain a peaceful, superficial harmony.
I looked at my son, the boy I had raised, the man who now stood before me, justifying the destruction of his own daughter’s only remaining link to her mother. There was no anger left in my gaze, only a deep, silent sorrow. He wasn’t just complicit; he was a willing victim of Victoria’s ambition, blind to the monster he enabled out of sheer cowardice.
He saw the pity in my eyes, and he recoiled slightly, as if struck. But he said nothing more, turning and walking away down the long hallway, leaving me to my grim preparations.
+ There are no comments
Add yours