Chapter 3 - THE GATHERING OF THE GIRLS
The west hallway of the Aspen mansion felt like entering a different world.
The thumping bass of the ballroom music was replaced by the low, mournful howl of the mountain wind against double-paned glass. The air grew noticeably colder here; Vanessa had ordered the smart-home thermostat for the children’s wing turned down to sixty degrees weeks ago to “save on heating bills,” though Nathan now knew it was just another form of calculated neglect.
Nathan walked quietly down the corridor, his footsteps muffled by the thick wool runner.
He pushed open the heavy oak door of the family dining room.
The room was still dim, illuminated only by the weak, flickering glow of a cheap plastic night-light plugged into the baseboard.
At the far end of the mahogany table, the four little girls were still sitting in their oversized velvet chairs. They had not moved. Emma still had her small hands protectively spread over the single plastic plate containing the moldy bread crusts, while Lily, Sophie, and Grace sat frozen beside her like four delicate porcelain dolls caught in a snowstorm.
When they heard the door creak open again, all four pairs of big, gray eyes—Claire’s eyes—snapped toward him with a quiet, heartbreaking terror.
“Daddy…?” Emma whispered, her lower lip trembling as she pulled her hands back from the plate. “Are you… are you mad at us?”
Nathan felt as though a physical blow had struck his chest. He staggered forward, his knees hitting the hardwood floor with a dull thud. He didn't care about his expensive suit pants getting stained by dust. He crawled across the floor until he was right beneath their chairs, resting his hands on the carved armrests.
“No, my sweet babies,” Nathan choked out, his voice cracking violently as tears finally spilled over his eyelashes. “I am not mad at you. Never, ever you.”
Sophie, who had crawled under the table earlier, slowly poked her head out like a frightened mouse, her golden curls tangled around her face.
“Did… did the bad lady go away?” Sophie whispered.
“She is gone,” Nathan promised, reaching out to gently stroke Sophie’s cheek. His fingers brushed against skin that was far too cold. “She is never coming back here again. I promise you.”
Lily leaned forward, her small hands clutching the collar of Nathan’s shirt. “We were good, Daddy. We didn't make noise. We stayed in our room like Mama Vanessa said. We only ate the bread because our tummies hurt so bad.”
Nathan pulled all four of them into his arms.
It was an awkward, tangled embrace as the four five-year-olds collapsed against his chest, crying silent, exhausted tears that they had clearly been holding back for months. Nathan held them tight, rocking back and forth on the floor of the dark dining room, cursing himself a thousand times over for every flight he had taken, every meeting he had prioritized, every night he had stayed late at the office while his daughters were being starved and frozen in their own home.
“I’m here,” Nathan whispered into Emma’s hair, kissing the top of her head. “Daddy is home. And I am never leaving again. Do you hear me? Never.”
After a long moment, Nathan gently unspooled their arms and stood up, lifting five-year-old Sophie into his arms while taking Lily’s small hand in his.
“Come on, girls,” Nathan said, his voice steady and resolute. “We’re leaving this room.”
“Where are we going?” Grace asked timidly.
“To the master suite,” Nathan said. “My bed has down comforters, extra pillows, and it smells like vanilla. And then, we are going to order every single pancake, bowl of fruit, and hot chocolate the private chef can make in the next twenty minutes.”
A collective gasp of wonder escaped their lips.
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As Nathan carried them down the grand hallway toward the warm, brightly lit master wing, a sudden sense of fierce, unyielding purpose replaced the guilt in his chest. Vanessa thought she was protected by a prenuptial agreement. She thought she could walk away rich after torturing his children.
She had no idea who she was dealing with.
