Chapter 2 - TWENTY-THREE DAYS
Thora had lost four pounds.
That was the first number that mattered.
Not enough to make her dangerously underweight.
Enough for her pediatrician to notice.
Dr. Helen Marsh reviewed Thora’s growth chart twice.
“When did you last see her?”
“Twenty-three days ago.”
“Video calls?”
“Every day.”
“Did she look different?”
I closed my eyes.
She did.
Some nights her face had looked thinner.
I blamed the bad tablet camera.
Other nights she wore sweaters despite being indoors.
I assumed winter.
Once she told me she was too tired to talk.
Heloise said she had spent the afternoon playing.
I had accepted every explanation because accepting was easier than imagining my sister hurting my daughter.
“She has bruising on her left upper arm,” Dr. Marsh said.
“From what?”
Thora sat on the examination table holding my hand.
“Heloise grabs.”
The doctor crouched.
“Anything else hurt?”
“My cheek.”
“I see that.”
“Feet.”
Her heels had small abrasions.
From shoes?
No.
From standing.
According to Thora, Heloise required her to serve dinner whenever guests came.
“How many times?”
Thora counted badly.
“A lot.”
Five years old.
No reliable number.
The doctor documented everything.
No fracture.
No serious dehydration.
No head injury.
Mild nutritional concern.
Stress.
Possible neglect.
Mandatory report.
Good.
I needed systems now.
Not family interpretation.
Detective Mara Ellis arrived.
She interviewed me separately.
I told her about the punch.
All of it.
“You struck Heloise after she threatened you with losing the house?”
“Yes.”
“Was she physically touching Thora at that moment?”
“No.”
“Was she attacking you?”
“No.”
“So the immediate threat had stopped.”
“Yes.”
Potential assault charge.
Fine.
I would answer.
Then Thora.
Child specialist present.
No leading questions.
“What did you eat yesterday?”
“Toast.”
“For breakfast?”
She nodded.
“What about lunch?”
“Apple.”
“Dinner?”
“I served.”
“Did you eat?”
“After.”
“What?”
“Things people didn’t finish.”
My chest hurt.
Detective Ellis kept her face neutral.
“Who told you to eat leftovers?”
“Heloise.”
“Did anyone else see?”
Thora looked down.
“Grandpa Leland?”
Wrong family. There was no Leland here.
I caught myself before memory could rewrite the room.
The guests had seen some.
Maybe not everything.
Thora continued:
“Cousin gave me cake once.”
“Did Heloise know?”
“No.”
Important.
The favored cousin was not necessarily participating willingly.
Then the house.
“Where did you sleep?”
“Kitchen.”
“Every night?”
“No.”
“When?”
“When I was bad.”
“What was bad?”
“Asking Daddy.”
The specialist paused.
“Asking Daddy what?”
“When he comes home.”
I had to leave the room for thirty seconds.
Naomi Price met me in the hospital corridor.
My attorney.
She had been trying to reach me for two days because of the estate documents.
I told her what happened.
She listened without interruption.
Then:
“The review Heloise mentioned is real.”
“What review?”
“Wycliffe House.”
“What about it?”
“She filed a petition asserting that you abandoned primary residence there.”
I stared.
“I’ve been on a work trip.”
“She says you maintain another home, travel extensively, and left domestic management to her.”
“What does that matter?”
“Under the residence trust, perhaps a lot.”
“What residence trust?”
Naomi’s expression changed.
“You still haven’t received the full schedule.”
“No.”
She took out her tablet.
Wycliffe House was not owned personally by Heloise.
I knew that much.
It sat inside a trust created by our grandmother decades earlier.
What I had never known:
The trust did more than prevent sale.
It assigned occupancy rights.
Governance rights.
Descendant protections.
Some kind of stewardship mechanism.
“How much does Heloise control?”
“Temporarily? We’re finding out.”
“Why temporarily?”
Naomi looked toward the hospital room.
“Because Thora turned five.”
My daughter’s birthday had been six weeks earlier.
“What does five have to do with a house?”
“I don’t know enough yet.”
I hated that answer.
Then Naomi opened the petition attachment.
Heloise claimed:
Aldric’s household no longer occupies Wycliffe House as a principal family residence.
Minor child Thora resides under household staff supervision during father’s extended absences.
My stomach dropped.
“Staff supervision?”
Then I understood the uniform.
The kitchen sleeping area.
The serving.
Heloise had not merely humiliated Thora.
She had been manufacturing a picture of how Thora lived.
May you like
A child placed physically among household staff.
And the petition had been filed twelve days before I came home.
