“Be quiet!” she snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? Don’t you dare bother me! If you don’t learn to listen, I’ll put you both right out on the street.”
Marcus lunged into the room, physically moving to stand between Veronica and his children. “Stop,” he commanded. His voice was raw, but it held a new strength. He reached down, intending to pick up James, but his motion was awkward, unfamiliar after so many months of not holding his son.
“Let me take him,” he said. “Mary, come over here to me.” But the little girl was frozen, her eyes wide. Her small fingers twisted the hem of her torn dress. Marcus paused, his hand hovering in the air, before he let it drop. He just stood there, positioning himself as a shield in front of them.
For a split second, a look of pure fury flashed in Veronica’s eyes, quick and sharp. Then, just as fast, it was gone, replaced by a soft, welcoming smile.
“Oh, darling, you’re home,” she cooed, her voice all sugar. “I was just laying down the law for the children. They were getting completely out of hand.” She glided closer, resting a light hand on the lapel of his jacket. Her tone dropped to a velvety purr.
“You must be exhausted from your trip. Don’t let a little crying get you so upset. You know the doctor said children need structure, didn’t he? I’ve been here with them this whole past month. I know their behaviors better than anyone.”
Marcus clutched James, who felt impossibly light. A hot, angry feeling was rising in his throat. He glanced down at Mary and saw the raw, lingering terror in her eyes. Then he looked up again, right into Veronica’s perfectly pleasant smile.
She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips in a display of faux sympathy. “Or maybe,” she suggested softly, “you’re just feeling guilty for being gone so long, and it’s making everything seem more dramatic than it is.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Children just mirror the adults in their life.” The words were spoken like a comforting whisper, but they carried a sharp, hidden edge.
Marcus looked closely at his children for the first time. Mary’s dress wasn’t just grubby; it was ripped in multiple places. James seemed smaller, thinner than he should be. Both of his children were trembling, and it clearly wasn’t from the cold. It was fear.
It was in that moment, for the first time in eight long months, that Marcus finally, truly saw them. And the sight shattered his heart. Before he could find the words to respond, Mrs. Deborah materialized in the doorway.
Mrs. Deborah was the kind, elderly housekeeper who had been with their family for ages. She had been there when Mary was born, watching her grow. She had been a great help to Sarah, helping her manage the home. Right now, her face was a mask of deep worry and sadness.
“Mr. Johnson,” Mrs. Deborah said, her voice low. “We weren’t expecting you home so soon.” Marcus saw her eyes dart nervously—first to the children, then a quick, fearful glance at Veronica, and finally back to him.
It was a look that screamed she had something to say but was terrified to voice it. “Mrs. Deborah has been a tremendous help,” Veronica chimed in, flashing that sweet smile again. “Haven’t you, Deborah? She understands just how challenging it is to handle children when their father is gone as much as you are.”
The housekeeper gave a slow, reluctant nod, but Marcus saw it clearly now. The emotion in her eyes was fear. Marcus lowered himself to one knee beside Mary, the fabric of his expensive suit pooling on the floor. He didn’t even notice.
“Mary, sweetheart, what happened to your dress?” he asked gently. “How did it get torn like this?” Mary looked up at him, her eyes wide with fright. Her lips parted as if to speak, but then her gaze flickered over to Veronica. Instantly, her mouth snapped shut. She was too terrified to answer.
“Oh, that old rag?” Veronica interjected with a breezy laugh. “You know how rough children play. She was climbing trees out back again. I’ve told her to be more careful, but… well, you know how kids are.”
Marcus reached out and touched the ripped fabric. This wasn’t a tear from a branch. It looked like the material had been seized and yanked. Violently. “Is that right, Mary?” Marcus asked, his voice still gentle. “Were you climbing trees?”
Mary’s lower lip began to tremble. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. She looked at Veronica, then back at her father, her gaze desperate. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She was paralyzed by fear. In her arms, baby James started to fuss and cry again.
Marcus reached out to take the baby. As he lifted James, the sleeve of the baby’s shirt rode up, and Marcus saw something that made his blood turn to ice. There were small, distinct red marks on James’s tiny forearm. They looked exactly like finger marks, left by someone who had gripped him far, far too tightly.
“Veronica,” Marcus said. His voice was different now—deeper, heavier, and deadly serious. “What are these marks on my son?” For a fraction of a second, Veronica’s smile faltered. Then it was back, as bright and artificial as before.
“Oh, those?” she said dismissively. “He’s been incredibly fussy. Sometimes when I pick him up, I just have to get a firm grip so he doesn’t wiggle away and fall. Babies are so squirmy, you know. The doctor even said it’s perfectly normal for them to get little bruises like that.”
Marcus knew what finger marks looked like. These were not the marks of a safe, supportive hold. Mrs. Deborah cleared her throat, a small, quiet sound. “Mr. Johnson, perhaps you would like me to get you some coffee? You must be very tired from your travels.”
Marcus looked over at the housekeeper. He detected an urgency in her voice, a signal. She wanted to speak with him, alone. “Yes,” Marcus said, drawing the word out. “That sounds good.” He turned to Veronica. “Veronica, would you please go get Mary a change of clothes? And perhaps see if James needs a bottle?”
“Of course, darling,” Veronica replied. But her smile looked strained now, brittle. “Come along, children. Let’s get you both cleaned up.” “No,” Marcus said, his voice firm. “I’ll take care of them. You’ve done enough.”
The words landed with more force than he’d intended. He saw that flash of anger in Veronica’s eyes again, just for a second, before the sweet mask was back in place. “Whatever you think is best, dear,” she said. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Marcus watched her walk away, the sharp click-clack of her heels echoing on the marble floor. He felt like he was seeing her, really seeing her, for the very first time. The moment she turned, when she thought he couldn’t see, her face transformed. The sweet, caring expression melted away, and something cold, hard, and mean settled in its place.
Mrs. Deborah waited until she was sure Veronica was out of earshot. Then she hurried to his side and whispered, “Mr. Johnson, we must talk. Urgently.” Marcus nodded. He gently lifted James into his arms, his heart sinking as he felt how light the baby was. Far too light for eight months.
Mary, silent, pressed against his leg, her little hand clutching his pants. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Marcus told her, stroking her hair. “Daddy’s here now. No one is going to be unkind to you anymore.” But even as he said it, a chilling realization washed over him: he had no idea what the full truth was.
What, exactly, had been going on in this house every time he left? What other secrets were being kept from him? And the worst question of all: how long had his children been living like this, right under his roof, while he was too buried in his work to see? The answers, he knew, would change his life forever. But first, he had to listen to what Mrs. Deborah had to say.
Marcus carried James upstairs to the nursery, with Mary holding tightly to his hand and following him. The room itself looked pristine, just like the rest of the house. The walls were a soft, calming blue. Expensive-looking toys were arranged perfectly on the shelves. But Marcus couldn’t help but notice that James’s crib seemed pushed into a far corner, almost as if it were hidden behind a tall dresser.
“Mary,” Marcus said softly, as he fumbled a bit while changing James into a clean sleeper. “Can you tell me what your days are like when I’m not home?”…
