Chapter 3 - The Key in the Floorboards
The word hung in the air, fragile and heavy all at once.
"Brooke," Sarah breathed, dropping to her knees. "Sweetie, did you say Mama?"
Brooke’s lips trembled, but she didn't speak again. Instead, she took a step closer to Sarah, her small hand reaching out to grab the edge of Sarah’s apron. She pulled on it, her eyes pleading, looking back and forth between Sarah and the locked mahogany door.
"Is your mama’s room in there?" Sarah asked softly.
Brooke nodded rapidly.
"Why is it locked, sweetie? Do you know where the key is?"
Brooke looked down, her small foot tapping against a specific floorboard right in front of the locked door. It was a loose board, slightly raised at the corner—one of the many minor flaws Sarah had noticed during her first week of cleaning.
Sarah’s heart raced. She looked down the long corridor. The house was quiet. Julian was likely locked in his study down on the first floor, drowning his anger in scotch, and Nancy was busy organizing the dinner preparations in the west wing kitchen.
Sarah knelt beside the loose board. She slipped her fingers under the raised edge. With a gentle pull, the old wood groaned slightly and lifted.
There, nestled in the dust and old insulation beneath the floor, lay a heavy, tarnished brass key attached to a faded blue silk ribbon.
Sarah’s hand shook as she reached down and picked it up. The brass was cold, pitted with age.
"Did your mama hide this here?" Sarah whispered.
Brooke didn't answer, but she watched the key with an intensity that broke Sarah’s heart.
"Sarah!"
Nancy’s sharp voice echoed from the bottom of the service stairs.
Sarah’s instincts took over. She shoved the key deep into her apron pocket, pressed the loose floorboard back into place with her shoe, and turned to Brooke.
"Go back inside, sweetie. Quick," she whispered.
Brooke vanished into her room, closing the door just as Nancy’s head appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Sarah, what are you doing still up here?" Nancy asked, her eyes sweeping over the empty corridor. "I need you in the dining room. The silver service needs to be polished before Mr. Sterling’s associates arrive tomorrow. Move along."
"Right away, Mrs. Keene," Sarah said, keeping her hands tucked into her apron pockets to hide their shaking.
All through the evening, as Sarah polished heavy silver platters until her arms ached, the brass key felt like a branding iron against her thigh. She knew she was crossing a line. If she was caught, she wouldn't just be fired; she could be arrested for trespassing or theft. She would lose everything she had worked so hard to rebuild for herself and Alice.
But then she remembered the cold, calculating voice of Richard Sterling. A quiet, private clinic. Somewhere out of sight.
They were going to lock a grieving child away because she was too sad to fit into their perfect, wealthy world.
Sarah couldn't let that happen. Not while she had the power to do something.
May you like
That night, Sarah returned home late. Alice was already asleep, tucked under her frayed pink blanket. Sarah sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed, brushing a stray dark curl away from her forehead.
"I have to help her, Alice," Sarah whispered to the sleeping girl. "I have to try."
