Chapter 5 - Unraveling the Past
Two weeks passed, and the atmosphere in the Caruso estate began to shift in ways I couldn't entirely process, let alone control.
The frantic, suffocating tension that had gripped the household since Sarah’s death seemed to be thawing, replaced by a strange, cautious rhythm. I found myself coming home earlier. Instead of retreating straight to my study with a glass of whiskey and a loaded Beretta, I occasionally stopped by the nursery door to watch Elise interact with my daughters.
She didn't just care for them; she brought them to life. She painted with them—or rather, let them smear safe finger paints across butcher paper while she narrated stories about magical forests. She took them out to the courtyard garden, letting Rosie feel the rough bark of the oak trees and allowing Maisie to chase soap bubbles across the lawn.
And slowly, imperceptibly, my daughters were changing. They were sleeping through the night. They were gaining weight. Their little faces were frequently lit with bright, unrestrained smiles.
One Thursday evening, while reviewing financial portfolios in my study, I heard a soft knock.
"Come in," I said.
Elise pushed the door open, holding a stack of mail and a grocery delivery manifest. "The organic formula you ordered from Vermont arrived, Mr.. Caruso. I put it in the pantry. Also, there’s a letter here that was delivered to the back gate by mistake. It’s addressed to you, but the name is misspelled."
She walked over and placed a thick, cream-colored envelope on my desk.
I glanced down at it, and my blood ran cold.
The handwriting was unmistakable. It was my mother’s elegant, aristocratic cursive.
I hadn't spoken to my mother, Eleanor Caruso, in over a year. When Sarah died, Eleanor hadn't attended the funeral. Instead, she had sent a cold, clinical letter stating that Sarah’s working-class background had always been a liability to our family name, and suggested that I immediately hire a full-time aristocratic nanny from her exclusive Swiss agency rather than "grieving like a peasant." I had burned the letter and cut all ties.
"Is everything alright?" Elise asked, noticing the sudden rigidity in my posture.
"It’s fine," I muttered, sliding the envelope into a desk drawer without opening it. "Thank you, Elise. That will be all for tonight."
May you like
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, sensing the sudden wall I had thrown up. "Alright. Have a good evening, Mr. Caruso."
As she turned to leave, the door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone in the silent study. But the peace I had felt ten minutes ago was gone, shattered by the ghost of a mother who believed money and breeding could cure a broken heart.
