Chapter 66 The verdict of the threshold
The house was steeped in an unnatural, heavy quiet, the kind that only follows a storm. In the master bedroom, I layed submerged in a deep, medicated sleep, my breathing slow and rhythmic. The floral summer dress I had worn to the restaurant was draped over a chair, a crumpled reminder of a day that had fractured my world.
My mother and Maya stood by the bed for a long moment, watching the soft rise and fall of my chest. The overhead light was off, leaving the room bathed in the amber glow of a small bedside lamp. With a synchronized, practiced grace, they retreated toward the door, their footsteps muffled by the thick rug.
Maya pulled the door shut with a nearly silent click, and both women let out a simultaneous breath they didn't know they were holding. But the relief was short-lived.
Standing in the dimly lit hallway, silhouetted against the light of the living room, was the patriarch of the house. My father stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face a mask of stern, unreadable gravity. He didn't move as they approached; he simply waited until they were inches away.
"Can I have a word with you two?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and led the way into the living room, his stride purposeful. Maya and mother exchanged a quick, wary glance before following him in a silence that felt heavy with impending judgment.
The living room, usually a place of laughter and Leo’s scattered toys, now felt like a courtroom. Father sat in his high-backed chair, the remote in his hand. He pointed it at the television, where a news anchor was silently gesturing, and switched the volume down until the house was nothing but the sound of the wind outside.
"Sit," he commanded.
They sat. Maya leaned forward, her hands clasped between her knees, while mother settled into the sofa, her spine rigid.
"I know you have told me about Elena's pregnancy," he began, his eyes moving from one to the other, "but I really do not like this whole thing happening. I've tried to be quiet, to stay in the background while the three of you whispered in corners, but the chaos... the head of this family cannot bear it anymore."
Maya opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp look from her father silenced her.
"I do like the Blackwood boy," he continued, his voice steady but laced with a biting disappointment. "I appreciate the medical help, the scholarship, and the way he looked out for us when we were drowning. But Elena didn't have to betray Liam because of luxury and a few minutes of pleasure. You all know how much I honor respect and modesty in this house. Liam is the man Elena introduced to us. He is the man we gave our blessing to. He is the man we know."
He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees. "Coming into this house carrying another man's child... it is pure disrespect. To the family name, and more importantly, to herself. What happened to loyalty? What happened to the girl who promised to wait?"
"You are saying all of this because you are fond of Liam?" her mother replied, her voice rising in a rare show of defiance. "You see the suit and the smile, but you don't see the tears Elena shed. You don't see the way she was shrinking into a shadow of herself before the accident."
"You see nothing wrong with any of this?" her father countered, his eyes flashing. "You allow these girls to pull you by your nose, and that’s why you can't even smell when they’re wrong. This will end bad. You are squeezing Elena into a corner, pushing her toward a world of silver spoons and cold mansions, and it won't end well. She’ll remember Liam when the novelty of the Blackwoods wears off."
"It was never about novelty!" Maya burst out, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Victor saw her, Dad. He saw her talent and her brain. Liam saw a pretty girl who would wait for him while he did whatever he wanted. You’re defending a ghost."
"I’m defending character!" he shouted, the volume of his voice making the glassware in the cabinet rattle. "That Victor boy loved Elena's company. He loved having a pretty nurse who laughed at his jokes while he sat in that chair. But who is she to him now? Does he love the girl from the bakery, or does he love the 'designer' he manufactured? Liam loved the girl who had nothing."
"Allow the kids to do whatever they want and find peace!" her mother protested, standing up to face him. "Elena didn't find peace with Liam. She found anxiety. She found a man who kept secrets and a mother who looked down on us. She deserved better, and she found it. Why is it so hard for you to accept that she chose herself?"
"So she only realized the lack of peace when Victor came into the picture?" the father asked with a bitter, hollow laugh. "Convenient, isn't it? That her 'peace' came with a private jet and a mansion in the hills?"
He stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. He looked at his wife, his expression one of deep, mourning disappointment.
"Whatever they say, a mother knows her kids best," he said quietly, the anger replaced by a chilling sort of resignation. "But I don't know. In every piece of advice you give her, I hope it never destroys her. I just have a bad feeling about this, Sarah. I feel like we are building a house on sand, and the tide is coming in."
He didn't wait for a rebuttal. He turned his back on them and walked toward the bedroom, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.
Maya and her mother remained in the living room, the silence now even more suffocating than before. The father’s words hung in the air like smoke—dark, lingering, and impossible to ignore.
"He doesn't understand," Maya whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
"He understands his own heart," her mother replied, sinking back into the sofa and staring at the muted television. "But he doesn't understand that the world Elena is in now... it doesn't have room for the old rules. I just hope Victor wakes up. Because if he doesn't... your father is right. Elena will be in a corner with nowhere left to turn."
They sat together in the dim light, two women trying to hold up the sky for a third who was dreaming of a future that felt more fragile with every passing second. Outside, the wind picked up again, rattling the windowpanes, a restless reminder that the storm was far from over.