Chapter 13 - Echoes Across the Miles
Far away from the snow-dusted mountains of the Pacific Northwest, inside the high-ceilinged drawing room of a sprawling suburban estate, the silence was absolute.
Margaret sat alone in her high-backed leather armchair, wrapped in a heavy cashmere shawl despite the roaring fire in the hearth. The grand mansion was quiet—too quiet. The domestic staff moved through the hallways like ghosts, speaking in hushed whispers and avoiding eye contact whenever possible. The holiday season had arrived once again, but there was no annual banquet, no grand toast, and no assembled family to command.
Britney lived across town in a modest apartment, too proud to visit and too broken to pretend. William resided in a coastal assisted-living facility, a quiet, forgotten figure who spent his days staring out at the grey ocean tides.
Margaret reached out a trembling hand, picking up a silver framed photograph from the side table. It was an old picture from a decade ago—Andrew standing awkwardly in the background of a family portrait, wearing a cheap suit and a strained, desperate smile, trying so hard to belong to a world that only ever used him.
She looked at the empty seat beside him in the frame—the space where Khloe should have been smiling, if only Margaret hadn't spent years teaching everyone around her that love was a currency earned only by perfection.
A heavy, aching realization settled into her chest—not of remorse for her cruelty, but of the terrifying emptiness of a throne built entirely on fear. She had kept every dollar, defended every asset, and protected every scrap of her inherited prestige.
May you like
And she was entirely, utterly alone.
With a dry, raspy breath, Margaret set the frame back down facing away from her, letting the shadows reclaim the empty room as the winter night closed in.
