Chapter 7 - Recovery at the Estate
Three weeks later, the master bedroom of the Vance estate looked entirely different.
The heavy, oppressive drapes that had kept the room in perpetual gloom had been replaced with light, airy linen curtains that allowed the golden afternoon sunlight to flood across the hardwood floors. Fresh orchids sat on the bedside table, filling the air with a clean, natural fragrance.
My mother, Sylvia, was propped up against a stack of embroidered pillows. Though her recovery was slow, the heavy, foggy haze of the neuro-suppressants had completely vanished from her system. Her eyes were bright, clear, and filled with a fierce, unmistakable warmth as she looked at me.
"You look tired, Victor," my mother’s voice was raspy, but steady enough to carry across the room.
I smiled, pulling a chair close to the bedside and taking her frail, wrinkled hand in mine. "Just catching up on some corporate restructuring, Ma. Nothing I can't handle."
Marta bustled into the room carrying a silver tray with a bowl of homemade chicken soup and a cup of herbal tea. She beamed at my mother, setting the tray down gently on the rolling table.
"The young master works too hard, Mrs. Vance," Marta said in her thick, comforting accent. "I tell him every day, he needs to eat more and worry less."
"He gets that stubborn streak straight from his father," Sylvia chuckled softly, squeezing my hand with surprising strength. "Tell me... that girl. The judge’s daughter."
The room grew quiet for a brief moment.
"Her trial date was set this morning," I answered calmly, rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand. "Her father recused himself from the federal district, and her defense team is trying to negotiate a plea deal for twenty years without parole. Dr. Sterling is testifying as the primary state witness."
Sylvia let out a long, shuddering sigh, closing her eyes for a second as if washing away the last remnants of her nightmare. "God forgive her... because I don't think I ever can."
"You don't have to forgive her, Ma," I said softly. "You just need to focus on getting strong again. The doctors say with physical therapy, you'll be walking in the garden by summer."
May you like
Marta smiled warmly, handing Sylvia a warm spoon of soup. "And I will make sure she eats every single drop, Mr. Victor. No hiding pills under the tongue anymore!"
We all laughed—a genuine, healing sound that chased away the lingering ghosts of betrayal and fear that had haunted these walls for months.
