# PART 20: "The Fireplace"
# PART 20: "The Fireplace"
The first snow of the year fell heavily, blanketing the Alpine estate in a thick, silencing white.
Inside the main living room, the grand stone fireplace roared with a massive fire. Lily, now fifteen, was curled in an armchair reading a book. James was on the rug, constructing an elaborate fortress out of wooden blocks. Catherine was on the sofa, drinking tea.
Richard walked into the room.
He was holding the oak cane.
The family went quiet.
Lily lowered her book. Catherine sat up straighter, her eyes locked on the object in his hands. Even James stopped building, sensing the shift in the room's gravity.
Richard didn't say anything. He walked past the sofa. He walked past the armchair.
He stood in front of the roaring fire.
He looked at the cane one last time. He thought of his grandfather. He thought of his father. He thought of the terror he had inflicted, and the terror he had endured.
Then, with a fluid, deliberate motion, he lifted the cane and laid it horizontally across the burning logs.
The wood hissed. The flames licked at the varnish.
Richard stepped back. He stood next to Catherine. She reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his.
They watched as the brass handle blackened. The oak popped and cracked, surrendering to the heat.
"What was that, Dad?" James asked from the floor, his head tilted in curiosity.
Richard looked down at his son. Then he looked at Lily, who was watching him with a soft, knowing smile. Finally, he looked at Catherine.
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"Just some old wood, James," Richard said quietly. "Just some old wood taking up space."
The fire burned brighter, consuming the past, casting a warm, steady, and entirely safe light across the room.
