Chương 11
“Yes. Under a temporary caregiving contract.”
“How much?”
Mara answered.
“More than your previous wage as a maid?”
“Yes.”
“Nearly three times more?”
“Yes.”
“Would you agree that your financial situation improved after accusing Mrs. Bellweather?”
“No.”
“You earn more money.”
“I lost my home’s privacy, my employment, my health insurance, and any chance of working quietly in domestic service again.”
“But you earn more today.”
“For five more days.”
Celeste looked up.
Her attorney stopped.
The judge asked, “Your employment ends this week?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the children need a parent and a professional care plan. They do not need the woman who rescued them to become the center of their family.”
For the first time, Mara looked at Julian.
He lowered his eyes.
The hearing ended without a final determination. Celeste was granted supervised contact through a family visitation program. Julian retained temporary physical custody under continued agency oversight. Both parents were ordered to participate in psychological evaluations and parenting assessments.
No one won.
Outside the courthouse, reporters shouted questions.
“Ms. Ellis, do you believe Celeste Bellweather is dangerous?”
“Julian, did you know your wife was planning to flee?”
“Celeste, were you abused?”
“Who do the children want to live with?”
Mara kept walking.
Celeste emerged behind her. The shouting intensified.
Mara reached the courthouse steps when someone seized her sleeve.
It was Celeste.
A deputy moved toward them, but Mara lifted one hand.
Celeste released the fabric.
Up close, the skin beneath her eyes was gray with exhaustion.
“You told them everything,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Even what he did.”
“Yes.”
Celeste looked toward Julian, who had stopped beneath the courthouse doors.
“I thought you hated me enough to help him.”
Mara shook her head. “This is not about which adult I hate.”
“You think you are better than us.”
“No.”
“You stood in my house judging me every day.”
“Some days.”
Celeste almost smiled. The expression disappeared quickly.
“I did not mean for the light to go out,” she said.
Mara waited.
“I put water there because I knew they would complain. I thought they would watch a movie on the tablet. I thought it would be half an hour.”
“You took the tablet.”
“They tried to message Julian.”
“So you took it.”
Celeste looked down.
“What did they hear?” Mara asked.
Celeste’s lips pressed together.
“Tell the truth once,” Mara said. “Not for court. Not for Julian. For the two boys who still believe they caused this by listening.”
Celeste’s face folded.
“They heard me say I wished I had never had twins.”
Mara said nothing.
“I was angry. I was speaking to my sister. I said one child would have been manageable. I said two had ruined everything.”
The courthouse noise receded around them.
Celeste wiped her cheek. “Henry asked whether I meant it. Oliver started crying. I told them I didn’t. Then I saw them looking at me, and I knew they would run to Julian. He would use it. He would stand there being calm while I became the unstable mother.”
“So you locked them away until he signed.”
“I needed time.”
“You wanted control.”
“Yes.”
The word left her like air from a punctured lung.
Behind them, Julian stood motionless.
He had heard.
Celeste saw his face and laughed once, a dry, broken sound.
“There,” she said to Mara. “Is that the truth you wanted?”
“No,” Mara replied. “It is the truth they needed.”
Celeste covered her mouth and turned away.
Her attorney guided her toward a waiting car.
Julian remained on the courthouse steps. Reporters called his name, but he did not react.
Mara walked past him.
He followed her to the corner, where they waited for the light to change.
“I knew she regretted having children,” he said.
Mara watched traffic move through the intersection.
“She said it after they were born. There were complications. She didn’t sleep. She cried for months. I hired nurses and went back to work.”
“Did she receive treatment?”
“A doctor came to the house.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No,” he said. “Not really.”
The light changed.
Neither crossed.
“I thought giving her help meant hiring people,” Julian continued. “Every time she struggled, I added staff. A night nurse. An assistant. A tutor. You.”
Mara looked at him. “That did not make her lock the door.”
“No.”
“It may explain why she believed no one saw her.”
“Yes.”
“It does not excuse what she did.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His expression hardened, then softened with effort. “I’m trying to know two things at once.”
“What things?”
“That she suffered and that she hurt them.”
Mara nodded.
The light changed again.
This time they crossed.
Her last morning at the gatehouse arrived with sleet tapping against the windows.
Mara packed the few clothes she had kept upstairs. The boys sat on her bed and watched.
“Do you have to go before lunch?” Henry asked.
“Yes.”
“What if the roads are bad?”
“The train still runs.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Then I will wait at the station.”
“What if the station closes?”
“Then I will call.”
Oliver pulled at a loose thread on the blanket. “What if you forget?”
“I will not.”
“People forget.”
“Yes.”
“Daddy forgot our school concert.”
Julian stood in the doorway carrying a cardboard box. He had heard.
“I did,” he said.
Oliver looked at him.
“I put it on the wrong date,” Julian continued. “Then I told myself the video was almost the same.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Henry had a speaking part.”
“I know now.”
Henry looked toward Mara. “It was six words.”
“What were they?” Julian asked.
Henry’s face closed. “I don’t remember.”
Mara knew he remembered.
Julian set the box on the dresser. Inside were the matching cream pajamas, still sealed in evidence bags.
“The police released them,” he said. “They asked whether we wanted to keep them.”
Oliver slid off the bed.
“No.”
Julian looked at Mara.
May you like
“They said the boys could decide,” he explained.
Henry approached the box. He touched the plastic over the pale blue-gray trim.
