Chapter 13
Claire returned to the estate once.
Not as employee.
As guest.
I invited her because Caspian eventually asked who remembered his mother’s last dinner.
I did not bring him into the conversation.
Not yet.
Claire sat with me in the garden.
“I should have warned her.”
“Yes.”
She looked surprised I did not soften it.
Then I added:
“You were also a young employee staring at the woman who controlled your livelihood.”
Both.
“I still should have.”
“Yes.”
She cried.
Accountability without theater.
I thanked her for keeping Vivian’s place card.
She shook her head.
“I kept it because I was scared.”
“Fear occasionally preserves useful things.”
She smiled.
Then told me something lighter.
Vivian hated formal desserts.
Preferred salty food.
I laughed.
Caspian did too.
For two years, my memories of Vivian had frozen around her death.
Claire gave me back a living woman.
Vivian stealing olives before dinner.
Complaining about heels.
Arguing with florists.
Laughing too loudly.
May you like
That mattered.
Caspian deserved to inherit more than the story of what killed his mother.
