Chapter 4 - The Afternoon He Changed It
The scissors hadn't moved, but Daniel's hand had started to shake. I felt it through the curtain more than I saw it, that small tremor traveling up the fabric into my fingers.
"When?" His voice was low. He didn't look at his mother. He looked down at the housekeeper. "When did he change it?"
My arms were burning from holding myself against the window frame. The daylight coming through the sheer behind me was hot on my back. I could hear my own breathing too loud.
The housekeeper didn't let go of the curtain. She shifted her knees on the hardwood and kept both hands wrapped tight around the lower fold.
"It was after his checkup," she said. "That Tuesday he came home from the clinic. He went straight to the study and called Mr. Lawson."
I remembered that Tuesday. I had been in the kitchen pouring ginger ale because nothing else stayed down. Daniel's father had walked past with his coat still on and put his hand, real light, on my shoulder.
Lawson was the family lawyer. I'd only met him once, at the dining table at Christmas. The older woman in green made a short sound behind Daniel.
"Oh, stop dressing it up," she said. "You were listening at the door."
"I was bringing his tea," the housekeeper said. "He left the door open."
Daniel glanced between them. "Mom. Did you fight with him about it?"
She stood very straight in her green blouse, the pearls tight at her throat. For a second I thought she would deny it. Then she lifted her chin.
"Of course we fought," she said. "He was my husband. I'm allowed to fight with him in our own house. He said he was going to add the baby. I told him he was making a mistake."
The curtain pulled a half inch as my foot slipped on the sill. I caught myself and my heart slammed. The housekeeper tightened her grip instantly and looked up at me.
"I've got you," she whispered. "Don't move, honey."
Daniel took a half step closer with the scissors still open near the fabric. "What mistake? Why would it be a mistake?"
His mother didn't answer right away. She looked past him, out toward the framed art on the cream wall like she didn't want to look at my belly in that purple dress.
"Because that child changes everything," she said finally. "The house. The accounts. The foundation money. Your father wanted to split it all again. I told him Daniel needed control, not a baby he would never even meet."
Her words landed cold in the bright room. I could feel the sun on my neck and the sweat under my hair.
Daniel stared at her. "He knew he was sick then?"
The housekeeper nodded, still kneeling. "The doctor told him his heart was worse. He said it plain in the study. He said, if something happens to me, I don't want the girl left with nothing."
I remembered the timing because my hands had been shaking that whole week for a different reason. I had taken the test on Sunday morning in the upstairs bathroom while Daniel was still asleep. Two lines. I sat on the tile floor and cried because we'd been told it might not happen.
"We told him that Friday," I said. My voice sounded thin. "At dinner. Right here in this house. I told him I was pregnant. He stood up and hugged me. He cried."
Daniel turned his head toward me. His face changed. He remembered that dinner too. His dad had poured sparkling cider for me and made a toast with a shaking hand.
The older woman's mouth tightened. "And the next Tuesday after his appointment, he calls a lawyer. You see? It was sentiment. It wasn't business."
"It was his will," the housekeeper said. "It was his decision."
My fingers were going numb around the curtain. I tried to flex them without letting go. The heavy off-white fabric was damp where I'd been gripping it.
"That's why you want this," I said to his mother before I could stop myself. I looked straight at her. "That's why you're telling him to do it. If I fall—"
"Don't," Daniel said quickly. "Don't say it."
But his mother didn't flinch. She met my eyes over his shoulder.
"I told you," she said to him, not to me. "That child inherits nothing if there's no child. Your father should never have promised it."
The room went very quiet except for the soft creak of the curtain rod above me. Daniel looked down at the scissors in his own hand like he'd forgotten he was holding them. Then he looked back at the housekeeper.
"What exactly did you hear him say to Lawson?" he asked.
The housekeeper swallowed. Her bun had come loose and gray hair stuck to her forehead. She didn't look at the older woman. She looked at Daniel.
"He said, I want it changed to include my son's baby. He said, make sure they're protected no matter what she says."
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She jerked her chin, just once, toward the woman in green.
And in that bright formal room beside that tall window, with daylight all over the molding and the floor, it was finally plain why I was still up on that sill with his son holding scissors to the only thing keeping me steady.
