Visiting her daughters grave, Margaret spotted an unfamiliar little girl sitting on a bench, whispering to the portrait on the headstone. Her heart froze.
The last rays of evening light seeped through heavy curtains, pooling in tired streaks across the expensive Persian rug. The air in the sitting room, usually fragrant with rare flowers and expensive perfume, felt thick, chargedlike the stillness before a storm.
“Again, Lily? Honestly, Richard, do you seriously expect me to babysit her every time?” Christinas voice, usually smooth and honeyed, trembled with barely contained fury. She stood in the middle of the room, flawless in her silk dressing gown, like a porcelain doll, and shot her husband a defiant look. “She has a nanny! And for heavens sake, she has her grandmotheryour ex-wife! Why must I drop everything again?”
Richard, a man with silver at his temples and the composed posture of someone used to authority, didnt look up from his papers. His calm was deceptivelike the hush before thunder.
“Weve discussed this, Christina. Twice a month. Two Saturday evenings. Its not a requestits the bare minimum you agreed to when you married me. Emily needs a break. And as for my ex-wife, as you insist on calling her, she lives in another county and barely sees her granddaughter. Lily is my blood. And, need I remind you, Eleanors daughter. Your former best friend.”
He said the last words with the faintest edge, but Christina felt it like a slap. That connectionthat was what infuriated her most.
“Best friend” she sneered bitterly. “You mean the same Eleanor who ran off and had a child with some nobody, leaving you to clean up the mess?”
The words tumbled out before she could stop herself. Instantly, Christina bit her lip. A chill ran down her spine. She watched as Richard slowly set down his papers and lifted his gazeheavy, devoid of emotion. A memory flashed: six months ago, when Lily had spilled juice on the sofa. Christina had grabbed her wrist, screamed in her faceand then hed appeared. No shouting, no theatrics. Just that quiet, glacial certainty as hed eased her hand away.
“If you ever lay a finger on her again if anything happens to her because of you Ill break every one of your fingers. Slowly. Do you understand?”
Shed understood. Then, just as now, she knewthis man, whod given her luxury and rescued her from poverty, didnt love her. He tolerated her. And she feared him. Desperately. There was no escape. The thought of returning to that tiny flat, to her drunken parents, was worse than any punishment. Shed locked herself in this gilded cage, and now her jailer was a little girl.
Christinas tone shifted instantly. Tears welled, her voice sweet as syrup.
“Richie, darling, Im sorry I didnt mean it. Im just so tired Ive got an important doctors appointmentIve waited weeks, I cant miss it.”
But Richard wasnt listening. He waved her off like a bothersome fly, all his attention fixed on the doorway where a childs laughter echoed. There, in the playroom, sat Lily, building a tower of blocks with her nanny, Emily. Richards face transformedthe sternness melted, replaced by something tender, almost reverent. He scooped her up, spun her in the air. Lily shrieked with delight, clinging to his neck.
From the sitting room, Christina watched. Her heart twisted with icy, simmering hate. She was an outsider. A decorative piece in this lavish home. And as long as Lily existed, that would never change. In her mind, hardened by years of clawing her way up, a cold resolve formed.
*Dont worry, sweetheart,* she thought darkly. *Tonight, we say goodbye.*
Shed always known what she wanted. Beauty was her only weapon, her currency. While her friend Eleanor had scribbled poetry and dreamed of love, Christina had studied lists of wealthy men. RichardEleanors father, twenty-five years olderhad everything she desired: power, money, status.
Betrayal? A meaningless word. Shed seduced her best friends father without hesitation. For Eleanor, it had been the end. Shed vanished. A year later, Richard learned shed had a daughter. Four years after thatshe was gone. A tragic accident.
Grief-stricken, Richard poured all his love into his granddaughter, whom hed tracked down and brought home. Lily became his world. And Christina, the young, beautiful wife, found herself sidelined. The child was a living reminder of her treacheryand the final obstacle between her and total control of Richards fortune. The obstacle had to go.
Her plan was simple. First, shed dismissed the vigilant Emily under some flimsy pretext, replacing her with a scatterbrained student nanny, Sophieexactly as shed intended.
That Saturday, while Richard was away, Christina watched from the window as Sophie took Lily to the park. She waited. And thenSophies phone rang. The girl wandered off, absorbed in conversation, leaving Lily unattended. Christina seized her moment.
“Lily, darling, Grandpa asked me to take you somewhere special. Shall we go?”
The girl, trusting “Auntie Chrissy,” nodded eagerly. Minutes later, they were in the car. In the rearview mirror, Christina watched Sophie panic, scanning the park. Her smile turned smug.
The drive was long. At first, Lily chattered, then whined, then sobbed.
“I want Grandpa! Take me home!”
Christina turned up the radio, drowning her out. Hours passed, the city fading behind them, replaced by crumbling lanes and overgrown fields. Finally, she stopped at the rusted gate of an abandoned cemetery. Ancient oaks cast long, eerie shadows over forgotten graves.
She yanked the weeping child from the car. The air smelled of damp earth and decay.
“Were here,” Christina said. “This is your new home. Grandpa wont find you. Goodbye.”
Lily lunged for the car, but Christina shoved her back. The girl fell, wailing. To silence her, Christina struck her cheek. Lily froze, eyes wide with terror. Without a backward glance, Christina drove away. In the mirror, a tiny figure waved franticallythen vanished around the bend. She pressed the accelerator.
For Margaret, Saturdays were sacred. Every week, she visited the churchyard. Dressed simply, a shawl over her head, she walked through the village, avoiding pitying glances. She didnt need condolences. This ritual was hers alone.
Twelve years ago, shed moved here after doctors diagnosed her ten-year-old daughter, Grace, with a rare bone disease. Theyd prescribed quiet and clean air. Her husband couldnt bear ithed left. Margaret had stayed, drowning in grief until the village wouldnt let her. Neighbourschatty Doris and quiet, kind Marthahad brought food, forced her to rest. Slowly, the ice in her heart had thawed.
Seven years ago, Grace had passed. Many expected Margaret to leave, but shed stayed. The village had become home, its people family. Grief hadnt vanishedit had settled into a quiet, constant ache. She tended her garden, helped where she could, found solace in small kindnesses. She expected nothing more.
That evening, as she approached Graces grave, she froze. On the bench sat a little girldirty, trembling, in a thin dress. A fresh bruise marked her cheek. She wasnt crying, just whispering to Graces photo on the headstone.
Margaret listened.
“…Can I sit with you? Youre Grace, right? Auntie Chrissy said this is my home now. But its scary alone. You wont hit me, will you?”
Margarets heart clenched. This terrified child, abandoned here, had sought comfort from her daughters image. In a childs logic, a girl in a picture was safea friend who wouldnt hurt her.
Carefully, Margaret stepped forward.
“Hello, love.”
The girl flinched, shrinking back.
“Who are you? Are you going to hit me too?”
“Goodness, no,” Margaret soothed, her voice warm as it had been when shed rocked Grace. “Im Auntie Maggie. You must be freezing.”
She draped her shawl around the girls shoulders. Suspicion flickeredthen broke. The child collapsed into her arms, sobbing with relief. Margaret held her, stroking tangled hair until exhaustion claimed her. She carried the girl home, her tiny hand gripping hers like a lifeline.
At the cottage, Lilyas shed introduced herselfslept deeply. When she woke, her first words were:
“Auntie Maggie, can we call Grandpa? I remember his number.”
Margaret dialled. A mans voice, sharp with barely leashed panic, answered.
She explained. Within minutes, tyres screeched outside. Richard burst in, collapsing to his knees at the sight of Lily. He clutched her
