Chapter 4
The physician came downstairs twenty minutes later.
Caleb was bruised.
Shaken.
But breathing normally again.
That should have calmed me.
It did not.
“He needs rest,” the doctor said. “And no more stress tonight.”
I looked at Francesca.
She actually sighed.
As if inconvenience had become the problem.
I told one of my guards to keep everyone away from Caleb except the people I approved.
My mother laughed.
“You’re isolating him.”
“No.”
I turned.
“I’m protecting him from you.”
That silenced the room.
Then I looked at Mason.
He was staring at the floor.
“Who tied Caleb to the chair?”
His face changed.
Bianca answered.
“Mason.”
I looked at her.
Too fast.
Francesca spoke at the same time.
“Caleb wouldn’t sit still.”
Different explanation.
Good.
I waited.
Bianca realized.
So did my mother.
I looked at Mason.
“Who tied him?”
His lips trembled.
“Grandma.”
Francesca’s face hardened.
There.
Not neglect.
Direct involvement.
“What happened before that?”
Mason looked at Bianca.
She whispered, “You don’t have to answer.”
“Yes,” I said. “He does.”
My mother snapped:
“You are frightening him.”
I looked at her.
“Now you care.”
Silence.
Mason continued.
“Grandma said Caleb had to show he could take a hit.”
My stomach turned.
“Why?”
“Because Mom said people think he gets everything because he’s your son.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
Too late.
I looked at her.
“What exactly does Caleb get?”
She laughed bitterly.
“The future.”
There it was.
Again.
Not a chair.
Not a title.
Resentment.
“You think my four-year-old stole something from your son.”
She looked at me.
“Mason has spent his whole life being second.”
“To whom?”
“You.”
That answer surprised me.
Not Caleb.
Me.
May you like
Bianca had spent thirty-six years measuring herself against me.
Mason was simply the next generation of the same competition.
