Chapter 6
The portrait had become larger after Lenora died.
I had forgotten.
Originally it hung in a private sitting room.
Two years after her death, Evangeline suggested moving it into the gallery.
“People should remember who built this home with you.”
Sounded beautiful.
I agreed.
Then a spotlight was added.
Then a console beneath it.
Then flowers.
Then Lenora’s birthday became a formal dinner.
Then new staff learned to lower their voices near the painting because older staff did.
Nobody ordered that.
Culture does not always need orders.
It grows.
Serilda entered this house and saw another woman at the center of it.
A woman she could never argue with.
Never disappoint.
Never outshine without seeming disrespectful.
That did not justify what she did to Avelise.
But it explained the pressure.
I looked at Serilda.
“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it felt?”
She laughed.
“I did.”
That stopped me.
She had.
Not well.
Complaints about the painting.
Jokes about Lenora choosing flowers from the grave.
Arguments about memorial dinners.
I heard jealousy.
Maybe some was.
I did not hear suffocation.
Because I was defending memory.
Not listening.
“And instead of making me understand, you let Evangeline turn it into a competition.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“I wanted to win once.”
Her eyes moved toward Avelise.
“And I made her lose for me.”
Good.
Understanding.
Not absolution.
I took the engagement ring from Serilda’s finger that afternoon only because she removed it first and placed it in my palm.
“I don’t think I should wear this while you decide whether you know me.”
Fair.
I closed my fingers around it.
“I know what you did.”
Her face tightened.
May you like
“That may matter more.”
It did.
