Chapter 12 - Fire in the Drawing RoomAlexander crossed the drawing room in three strides.
Eleanor threw the folder deeper into the flames.
Grace moved faster.
She grabbed the brass poker and dragged the burning papers out onto the marble hearth.
Smoke curled upward.
Nathan shouted for water.
Alexander caught Eleanor’s wrist before she could reach for the pages again.
For the first time, she looked afraid of him.
Not because he would hurt her.
Because he would stop her.
Grace knelt on the floor, beating at the flames with a wool throw. Dr. Cole helped her. Half-burned documents scattered across the marble.
Alexander released his mother and dropped beside them.
The top pages were destroyed.
But one photograph survived.
Iris at six months, standing with support, feet planted, smiling at Amelia.
On the back, Amelia had written:
She wants to move. Don’t let them tell you she cannot.
Alexander could not speak.
Eleanor looked at the photograph with hatred.
“You think that proves something?”
“Yes,” Alexander said. “It proves my wife knew my daughter better than any of you.”
“She was sentimental.”
“She was her mother.”
Eleanor’s face twisted. “And where is she now?”
The room died.
Grace stood slowly.
Even Nathan looked shocked.
Alexander turned toward Eleanor with a calm that made the air dangerous.
“You will leave this house today.”
Eleanor laughed once. “This is my family home.”
“No,” Alexander said. “It is my daughters’ home.”
“You cannot erase me.”
“I do not need to erase you. You did that yourself.”
The police officer in the hall stepped forward.
Eleanor’s expression collapsed into fury.
As she was escorted out, she looked at Grace.
“This is your fault.”
Grace did not flinch this time.
“No,” she said softly. “It is yours.”
Eleanor’s eyes burned.
Then she said the words that would haunt the next night.
“You have no idea what I did to keep this family from falling into her hands.”
Alexander froze.
“Whose hands?”
May you like
Eleanor only smiled.
And walked out.
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