Chapter 5 The breaking point
The morning was painted in shades of muted charcoal and soft silver. A gentle rain tapped against the windowpanes of our house, a rhythmic sound that usually made me want to curl up under the blankets. But I was getting used to the rhythm of the Blackwood estate.
I pulled on a vibrant, chunky knit sweater and paired it with yellow rain boots. No matter how gray the sky or how cold the mansion, I refused to let my colors fade. As I reached for my lunchbox on the dining table, I saw a small yellow sticky note fluttering on the lid.
"Enjoy your day, my sweet bunny. You are the light in every room you enter. Love, Mom."
A wide smile broke across my face. My mother was the rainbow to my storm .Her love was a shield I carried with me every time I stepped onto that bus.
With my headphones on, the electric pulse of my favorite rock-and-roll band drowning out the world, I watched the raindrops race down the bus window.
When I arrived at the mansion, I made a beeline for the basement stairs, but a sharp voice stopped me in the foyer.
"Elena? A moment, please."
Mrs. Blackwood stood near the grand staircase. She looked particularly rigid today. "Hello, Elena. How are you doing?"
"I'm good, Mrs. Blackwood," I answered, my voice hitching slightly. I instinctively checked my sweater for stains, wondering if I’d broken some unwritten dress code. "How are you?"
"I’m well.victor's old friends and his... former girlfriend are coming over today," she said, her voice dropping a fraction. "I would appreciate it if you didn't show yourself frequently. He is quite proud, and he won't appreciate his friends thinking he has a 'nanny.' I’ve prepared the cinema room for you; there’s food there. Please stay there from eleven until they leave. But for now, you may begin your shift."
"Understood, ma'am," I replied, a bit stung by the word nanny, but relieved to have an excuse to disappear later.
I descended to the basement. The air was cool and smelled of expensive leather and Victor's brooding. He was sitting in his electric wheelchair, his back to me, staring at the television. A black-and-white film was playing, but he looked like he was staring through it.
Usually, I would offer a bright "Good morning!" and receive a scowl in return. Today, tired of the rejection, I simply walked past him toward the kitchenette to prep his morning water.
"Little missy," Julian’s voice rasped, cutting through the silence. "What happened to greeting?"
I stopped dead in my tracks, clutching the glass. I turned slowly, my eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you were in a good mood today. Maybe you should have labels that notify me of your status so I know when it's safe to speak."
I didn't wait for his retort. I walked away, my heart thumping. It felt good to push back, even a little.
I spent the next hour setting out a spread of appetizers and drinks for his guests, making sure everything looked effortless and expensive. At 11:00 AM sharp, I retreated to the cinema room as ordered.
I could hear the front door upstairs, followed by the heavy thuds of footsteps coming down to the basement. There were three of them: Caleb, a loud-talking guy who sounded like he owned every room he entered; Marcus, whose voice was lower and more hesitant; and Sienna, the ex-girlfriend. Her voice was like silk—smooth, expensive, and a little bit fake.
Victor’s mood shifted the second they entered. I could hear it through the walls. He wasn't just grumpy; he was volatile.
"Victor, man! You're looking... good," Caleb’s voice boomed.
"Don't lie, Caleb. I’m sitting in a chair that does my walking for me. I look like a broken toy," victor snapped.
For thirty minutes, it was a train wreck. They tried to talk about the "old days," about parties and business deals, but Victor met every memory with a barb. He was transparently annoyed, his voice dripping with vitriol.
"Why are you even here?" Victor’s voice rose, turning nasty. "To check if I’m still miserable? To feel better about your own pathetic, walking lives? You’re fake friends. You haven't called in months."
"Victor, please," Sienna’s voice pleaded. "We wanted to come sooner, but—"
"But what? You were too busy? Or was it the guilt, Sienna? Because let’s remember—I was driving to fetch you when the truck hit me. My legs are gone because of a girl who couldn't be bothered to call a cab. You mean nothing to me. None of you do. Just get out."
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, the sound of retreating footsteps. They didn't even say goodbye. They just fled.
A few minutes after I received a text from Mrs. Blackwood saying they had left, I walked back into the main room. I expected to find Victor in a dark corner, but the sight that met me made me gasp.
The glass-framed photos that had lined the wall were shattered. He had used his heavy glass carafe to smash every single one. Shards of glass glittered on the floor like frozen tears, and the photos themselves were torn and crushed.
I didn't ask what happened. I didn't say a word. I just grabbed the broom and dustpan and knelt, carefully sweeping up the wreckage of his former life.
"What's your issue, you bakery girl?" Victor hissed. He spun his chair around, his eyes bloodshot and wild with a mix of grief and rage. "What's your obsession? Why are you still here? I don't need your help! I don't need you to clean up my mess or look at me with those pathetic, wide eyes!"
The thread snapped. All the patience I’d built up over the weeks, all the "bubbly" energy I’d forced into this cold house, evaporated. I dropped the broom. It clattered against the stone floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
I stood up and looked him directly in the eyes, my voice shaking but loud.
"What's wrong with me? You should be asking yourself that question, Julian! I really don't appreciate staying here and staring at your miserable life every day. I don't do this because I like you. I do this because I need the money for my family! You are an asshole who’ll die a miserable death same as the miserable life you’re living!"
Julian’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked genuinely shocked, as if no one had ever dared to speak a truth to him.
"You push away every single person who tries to help you," I continued, the words pouring out of me like a dam had burst. "I guess it’s a good thing you’re going through this situation. Maybe it’ll finally force you to get off your high horse and realize you aren't the center of the universe!"
I didn't wait for him to recover. I turned and rushed into the small bathroom, slamming the door and locking it. I collapsed against the wall and sobbed. I shouldn't have said it. I’d called a paralyzed man’s life miserable. I’d told him his accident was a "good thing." The guilt was a physical weight in my chest, but the anger was still there, hot and jagged.
I stayed in there for twenty minutes, washing my face with cold water until my eyes weren't quite so red. I had to finish my shift. I had to be professional.
When I finally emerged, Victor was in the same spot, but the rage was gone. He looked smaller. The room was clean—I had finished the sweeping before my outburst—and the empty spaces on the wall where the pictures had been looked like missing teeth.
I gathered my things in silence, my movements stiff. I walked toward the stairs, my head down, ready to never come back
"Elena."
His voice was barely a whisper. I stopped, my hand on the railing, but I didn't turn around.
"I... I’m sorry," he said. The words sounded like they were being pulled out of him with pliers. "I shouldn't have called you that. And you... you were right. I’ve been an asshole."
I stood there for a long moment, the rain continuing to pour softly outside. I didn't say "it’s okay," because it wasn't. But I didn't leave either.
"I’ll see you tomorrow, Victor" I said quietly.
I walked up the stairs, leaving the darkness of the basement behind, but for the first time, I felt like the wall between us wasn't made of glass anymore. It was made of something much more fragile.