Chapter 5 - Voices in the Dark
Two weeks had passed since the raids.
Liam was staying with me at a private, high-security coastal estate in Sea Island, Georgia—a property I had purchased quietly three years ago with my personal earnings, completely separate from Vance Holdings.
The estate was surrounded by tall live oaks, blooming hydrangeas, and the soothing, rhythmic sound of the ocean waves. But despite the luxury and peace, the scars on my son’s spirit ran deep.
For the first ten days, Liam barely spoke. He would only eat if I placed his plate on the floor near his bed. Every time I tried to sit him at the dining table, he would panic, shaking violently and hyperventilating until I pulled him back into my lap.
Dr. Clara Vance (no relation to Jeffrey), a world-renowned child psychologist who specialized in severe early-childhood trauma, came to the estate three times a week.
"The table represents punishment and survival to him, Madeline," Dr. Clara explained as we sat on the back patio watching Liam play silently in a sandbox under the watchful eye of a private nurse. "In his mind, staying beneath the table kept him hidden from Noelle and Cynthia. It was his safe zone because whenever he came out, he was struck or yelled at."
My heart broke fresh every time I heard those words. "How do I bring him back, Clara? How do I make him know he's safe?"
"Time, consistency, and absolute love," Clara said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "He needs to see that you are the absolute authority in his world now—that no one can override you, and no one can hurt him when you are near."
That evening, a heavy thunderstorm rolled in over the Atlantic. Flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom sky, followed by deafening cracks of thunder.
I woke up instantly, throwing off my blanket, and rushed toward Liam’s room down the hall.
When I opened his door, my heart stopped. His bed was empty.
"Liam!" I called out, panic surging through my veins as I searched the room. "Liam!"
I checked the bathroom—empty. I checked the closet—empty.
Then, I looked down under the small reading table in the corner of his bedroom.
Liam was curled up in a tight ball in the shadow, holding his knees against his chest, his eyes wide with sheer terror as the thunder rattled the windowpanes. He was whispering something over and over to himself.
I dropped to my knees and slid under the table beside him. The space was small, but I squeezed myself in until my back was resting against the wall, right next to him.
"I'm here, baby," I whispered softly, pulling a warm fleece blanket around both of us. "Mommy is right here."
Liam looked at me, his tiny chest heaving. "Don't... don't tell Grandma," he whimpered, his voice raspy and broken—the very first words he had spoken to me since I returned from London.
Tears spilled over my cheeks, but I kept my voice steady and soft. "Grandma is gone, Liam. She is never, ever coming back. Nobody is going to yell at you. Nobody is going to hurt you."
"Austin... Austin gets the cake," Liam whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "Liam gets the floor."
I pulled my little boy tightly into my lap, burying my face in his soft hair, holding him as if I could physically shield him from the memory of every terrible thing he had suffered.
"You get the world, Liam," I promised him, kissing his cheek over and over again. "You get the cake, the table, the sky, and everything in it. Mommy owns the house now. And you are my king."
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Liam rested his small head against my collarbone. For the first time in two years, his small arms reached up and wrapped around my neck, clinging to me with all the strength his little body possessed.
We stayed under that table together all night, listening to the rain, until he finally fell asleep in my arms.
