Chapter 129 Chapter 129

Chapter 129 Chapter 129
Chapter 129

Morning light fell softly over Blake Mansion, touching everything except the heaviness inside it. The house was quiet in a way it had never been before. Not peaceful. Empty.

Victoria stood outside Sienna’s bedroom door, her hand resting on the knob. She had been there for several minutes, maybe longer. Time no longer moved the way it used to. It stretched and blurred and lost meaning.

Her arms were full of freshly folded clothes. Sienna’s clothes. A habit she could not break. A mother’s instinct that refused to accept reality. Even with her daughter gone, Victoria still washed her clothes, folded them carefully, and carried them back to her room as if Sienna might walk through the door at any moment.

On top of the pile lay a soft blue sweater. Sienna’s favorite. She wore it often, especially when she wanted comfort. Victoria lifted it to her face and breathed in slowly.

It still smelled like her.

Perfume. Shampoo. Warmth. Home.

The scent shattered something inside her. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them. They came easily now, without warning, without mercy.

Victoria turned the doorknob at last and pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as Sienna had left it. Untouched. Frozen in time. The bed was made neatly, corners tucked in just right. Sienna had always insisted on making her bed herself, even when the maids offered. She liked order. She liked control. She liked doing things right.

Victoria stepped inside and looked around.

The desk was covered with wedding planning papers. Invitations. Color samples. Notes written in Sienna’s careful handwriting. Plans for a future that now felt impossibly far away.

Photographs lined the walls. Sienna as a baby, tiny and perfect. Sienna as a toddler, smiling wide. Sienna growing older, stronger, brighter. Every stage of her life captured in frames that now felt like open wounds.

Victoria walked to the bed and gently placed the clothes on top, smoothing them as if Sienna would wear them soon. As if this was only temporary.

She sat down slowly and pressed the blue sweater against her chest.

The memories came rushing in, overwhelming her.

She remembered the first time she held Sienna. How small she had been. How fragile. How the world had seemed to pause the moment her daughter was placed in her arms. Love had filled her instantly, completely.

She remembered Sienna learning to walk, those wobbly steps across the living room. Falling. Crying. Getting back up again. Even then, she had been determined.

The first day of school came back to her clearly. Sienna had held her hand tightly, nervous but excited. She had not wanted to let go, but she had. Brave, even at that age.

Victoria remembered scraped knees and tears that vanished under gentle kisses. She remembered believing that she could fix anything for her daughter just by holding her close.

She remembered piano recitals, Sienna’s fingers moving confidently across the keys. Victoria had cried in the audience every time, overwhelmed with pride.

The teenage years followed. Curfews. Arguments. Tears. Doors slammed. But always apologies. Always hugs. Always love.

Then the memory that hurt the most found its way forward.

Baking.

Victoria closed her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the kitchen, years ago.

Sienna had been thirteen or fourteen when she came into the room one Saturday morning.

“Mom, can you teach me to bake?” she had asked. “Like really bake. Not just watch.”

Victoria had smiled, surprised and pleased. “Of course, sweetheart. What do you want to make?”

“Your chocolate chip cookies,” Sienna had said quickly. “The ones that are better than anywhere else.”

They had gone into the kitchen together, the maids already moving to help. Victoria had stopped them gently.

“Not today,” she had said. “This is just for us.”

The kitchen had filled with laughter that morning.

Victoria had tied an apron around Sienna’s waist and shown her how to wash her hands properly. Sienna had splashed water everywhere, laughing until Victoria joined in.

She taught her how to measure flour carefully, explaining that baking required precision. Sienna had focused hard, tongue sticking out slightly, determined to do it right.

When Sienna cracked her first egg too hard and shell pieces fell into the bowl, her face had fallen.

“It’s okay,” Victoria had said calmly, showing her how to remove the shells. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

Sienna had smiled and tried again, pride shining in her eyes when she succeeded.

They worked side by side, mixing ingredients, talking about school and friends. Sienna’s arms grew tired, and Victoria helped while still letting her daughter do most of the work.

“Can I taste it?” Sienna had asked, eyeing the dough.

“Just a little,” Victoria had laughed.

They formed cookies together, some too big, some too small, all imperfect and wonderful.

When the timer rang and the cookies came out golden and warm, Sienna had taken a bite and closed her eyes.

“Mom, we made these,” she had said in awe. “They’re amazing.”

Victoria had hugged her tightly. “You made them.”

They baked together every weekend after that. Cookies. Cakes. Bread. Pies. Those Saturdays became sacred.

Victoria opened her eyes, pulled back into the present by the silence of the room.

The silence broke her.

She began to sob, the sound tearing out of her chest as she bent forward, clutching the sweater.

“My baby,” she cried softly. “My sweet baby girl.”

The door opened quietly.

Richard stepped inside and froze when he saw her on the bed, surrounded by Sienna’s things. His heart shattered at the sight.

He crossed the room and sat beside her, pulling her into his arms. Victoria collapsed against him, her tears soaking into his shirt.

“She’s out there,” she sobbed. “She’s alone. She’s scared. And I cannot help her.”

“I know,” Richard whispered, his own voice breaking.

“I taught her to bake,” Victoria said between sobs. “Every Saturday. Just us. No maids. Just mother and daughter.”

“I remember,” Richard said gently. “The house always smelled like sugar and warmth.”

“She was so happy,” Victoria whispered. “And now she’s with that monster.”

“Don’t say that,” Richard said firmly but kindly. “Our daughter is strong.”

“What if we never see her again?” Victoria asked, fear shaking her voice.

Richard held her tighter. “We will find her. We have to.”

They sat together on Sienna’s bed, holding each other in the middle of grief, surrounded by memories that refused to fade.

And somewhere far away, their daughter was still waiting.