Four Hundred And Twenty Two
Four Hundred And Twenty Two
The morning had begun innocuously enough, sunlight spilling through the tall windows of the Lancaster estate, painting the floors in gold. Cecilia was giggling in the garden, chasing Pax across the freshly trimmed grass, her tiny hands outstretched, hair bouncing in the breeze. I lingered on the veranda with my cup of tea, savoring a few quiet moments before the day began in earnest. It felt almost ordinary, a reprieve from the storm of emotions that seemed to hover constantly in our household these days. But then my phone buzzed, and the moment shattered.
Scrolling through the notifications, my stomach dropped. There they were, Victoria and Cecilia. Pictures, smiling faces, a carefully curated series of images that Victoria had clearly staged. She was crouched beside Cecilia, adjusting her little sunhat, laughing as though the entire world revolved around them. In another, she was helping her trace letters for some schoolwork, their hands intertwined in a way that made my blood run cold. My fingers trembled as I scrolled through them, each image stoking a growing fire of rage and disbelief.
It wasn’t just that Victoria was taking pictures, she was inserting herself into the life that was mine, my child’s life, and flaunting it. My heart clenched around the thought that Cecilia might begin to look at her the way she looked at me or James, her innocent trust giving legitimacy to a woman who had caused so much chaos in our lives.
I set the phone down with a sharp exhale and marched toward the guest bedroom where Victoria was staying, my chest tight, my mind racing. This intrusion, was unacceptable. Cecilia’s happiness, her innocence, and her childhood were not games for Victoria to manipulate.
When I arrived, Victoria wadingvher makeup by the vanity.
I closed my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. “Victoria,” I said, my voice calm but sharp, “we need to talk.”
Victoria turned slowly, the familiar practiced innocence plastered on her face. “Ella,” she said softly, almost timidly, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Why are you posting pictures of you and my daughter?” I gritted.
“I’m just spending time with Cecilia. She likes me.”
I stepped closer, fists tightening at my sides. “Spending time with her? Victoria, you are not her mother. Cecilia is my child. And you—” I took a breath, forcing the words out steadily despite the heat in my chest—“you will stay away from her.”
Her smile faltered for the briefest second, but then she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Ella… don’t you understand? You’re the reason I never had a chance to be a mother!” she hissed, voice shaking with rage and grief. “Everything I wanted… everything I dreamed of… it was stolen from me. Because of you. You took him, you took what could have been mine, and now you have your perfect little family while I… I’m left with nothing!”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I staggered back a step, my hands shaking. My eyes narrowed, and I felt a flash of pure, protective fury for Cecilia. “Excuse me?” I whispered, disbelief coating every syllable. “You—you dare blame me for your own choices, your own life? You want to play the victim after everything you’ve done?”
Victoria’s tears slid down her cheeks, but she held my gaze, desperate, almost feral. “I loved him, Ella! I loved James! I stayed by his side, through everything, and what did I get? You—yes, you—walked into his life and stole him from me! And now you have my chance to be a mother… through Cecilia!”
I felt my fists clench so tightly my nails bit into my palms. “Don't you dare,” I said, my voice rising, “manipulate my child to settle your own grudges. Do you hear me? Cecilia is not your pawn, she is not your tool, and she is certainly not an extension of your jealousy!”
Victoria’s lips quivered, her voice breaking, but she pressed on. “I just wanted to be a part of her life. I wanted her to see me, to know that I tried, that I loved him too!”
I shook my head, fury and disbelief warping my features. “Loved him? Victoria, love isn’t possession. Love isn’t using a little girl to satisfy your own ego or to punish the woman who dared to be happy with the man you wanted. Love is selfless. You have shown nothing of it!”
Victoria stood slowly, her hands clasped in front of her, trembling but defiant. “Oh, and you love him? You who killed his sister? You who killed our baby? You who hid his daughter?” she spat, tears streaming freely now.
I swallowed hard, keeping my temper in check, though the heat in my chest threatened to boil over. “Listen to me very carefully,” I said, stepping closer, my voice quiet but deadly firm. “Cecilia is my daughter. She is not yours. You will not manipulate her, you will not use her, and you will not sully her childhood for your own selfish desires. Understand me, Victoria? One more step, one more word, one more attempt to take even a shred of what is mine and I swear, I will not hesitate.”
I turned sharply, knowing before I even looked that someone was there. James. His expression was unreadable, the set of his jaw hard, eyes focused somewhere beyond me, as though he had already prepared himself for whatever storm was about to erupt.