Chapter 3 - The First Night
The storm outside Lake Michigan raged on, the wind howling against the thick, double-paned glass of the mansion like a wild animal trying to find a way inside.
Beatrice sat in the rocking chair beside Lily’s bed, her left hand wrapped in a thick white splint, three neat stitches holding the skin of her left cheek together. The room was dark, lit only by the soft, green glow of the humidifier Dr. Evans had set up on the nightstand and the small nightlight shaped like a sleeping bear that sat near the doorway.
Lily was asleep, her breathing still carrying a faint, wet rattle, but her face had regained its normal, healthy color. Her small fingers were wrapped tightly around the ear of her stuffed rabbit, her chest rising and falling in a slow, comforting rhythm.
Beatrice rocked slowly, the movement of the chair a quiet, rhythmic creak-creak against the hardwood floor.
She felt exhausted, every muscle in her body aching with a deep, bone-weary fatigue, but she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. Every time she did, she saw the dark, damp stone of the cellar stairs. She heard the silent, suffocating panic of the little girl who couldn't find her breath.
The door to the bedroom opened with a soft, nearly silent click.
Leo walked in. He had changed into a simple black sweater and dark trousers, his hair slightly damp from the rain he must have stood in while dealing with Victoria’s departure. He didn't look like the King of Chicago tonight. He looked like a tired father, his shoulders slightly rounded, his eyes shadowed with a deep, lingering exhaustion.
He didn't speak. He just walked over to the other side of the bed, looked down at his daughter for a long, quiet minute, and gently smoothed her dark curls back from her forehead.
"She hasn't woken up?" he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the hum of the humidifier.
"No," Beatrice whispered back, her voice equally soft. "She had some warm broth an hour ago, and then she fell right back asleep. Her breathing is much better than it was."
Leo let out a slow, quiet breath that sounded like a prayer. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his large frame making the bed creak slightly. He looked across the bed at Beatrice, his dark eyes searching her face in the dim green light.
"Why did you stay?" he asked suddenly.
Beatrice paused, her hand resting on the arm of the rocking chair. "What do you mean?"
"The other nannies... the other maids," Leo said, his gaze shifting to the window where the rain was lashing against the glass. "They came here for the money. They came here because of the name. But the moment things got difficult, the moment they realized what kind of world I live in, they ran. They didn't want the risk. But you... you knew who I was. You knew what Victoria's family was capable of. Yet you took a blow to the face and a broken hand for a child who isn't even yours."
Beatrice looked down at her lap, her fingers tracing the edge of the blanket.
"I've been invisible my whole life, Leo," she said quietly, using his name for the first time. It felt strange on her tongue, heavy and intimate. "When you're... when you're a woman like me, people look right through you. They don't see a person; they see a service. They see a clean room, a cooked meal, a cleared table. But Lily... she saw me."
She looked up, her eyes meeting his.
"She was the first person in this house who ever asked me if I was tired. She was the first person who ever offered me a cookie instead of demanding one. She didn't care that I was large, or that my uniform was tight, or that I didn't look like the women on the television. She just wanted someone to sit with her in the dark when the thunder was too loud. How could I leave her when she needed me?"
Leo stared at her, his expression unreadable. For a long, silent moment, the only sound in the room was the wind and the quiet rattle of Lily's breath.
Then, Leo stood up. He walked around the bed, stopping beside her chair. He reached down, his large, warm hand gently covering hers—the uninjured one that was resting on the armrest.
May you like
"Thank you, Beatrice," he said, his voice carrying a deep, emotional resonance that made her throat tighten. "For being the only real thing in this house."
He squeezed her hand once, a solid, grounding touch, before turning and walking out of the room, leaving her alone with the quiet green light and the sleeping child.
