Chapter 3 - The Packing and the Departure
Thirty minutes later, the sharp clatter of rolling luggage announced Vanessa’s descent down the stairs.
She had changed into a tailored white Chanel coat and oversized sunglasses, though she couldn't hide the blotchy redness around her nose and the furious set of her jaw. Two massive designer suitcases trailed behind her, along with a vanity case crammed with high-end cosmetics and jewelry boxes.
Daniel stood at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed over his chest. He had washed his face, and his expression was as cold and hard as granite. The twins were sitting quietly in the kitchen under the care of Mrs. Gable, the elderly housekeeper who had arrived early for her evening shift and taken one look at Lily’s hair before bursting into tears of shock and fury.
Vanessa stopped three steps from the bottom, looking down at Daniel with a sneer.
“You’re making the biggest mistake of your life, Daniel,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag. “You think you can play single father of the year? Those children are broken. They have nightmares every night. They cry for a dead woman who walked out of their lives—”
“Don't you dare speak of their mother,” Daniel interrupted, his voice cutting through the foyer like a whip.
Vanessa scoffed, stepping down to the marble floor and rolling her luggage past him. She paused right beside his shoulder, her perfume—a heavy, suffocating scent of jasmine and expensive amber—drifting into the cool air.
“You’ll be begging me to come back by Tuesday,” she whispered venomously. “When you realize you can't run a global firm and manage two traumatized brats who inherited their mother’s weak, hysterical bloodline. Remember my words, Daniel. You’re nothing without me.”
She didn't wait for an answer. She pushed open the heavy front door, stepped out into the pouring rain that had finally begun to fall, and strode toward her silver Mercedes parked in the circular driveway.
Daniel watched through the glass sidelights as she tossed her bags into the trunk, slammed it shut with unnecessary force, and sped down the private drive, her taillights bleeding red into the dark, rainy night.
He locked the door behind her with a heavy, deliberate turn of the deadbolt. The click echoed in the silent foyer—a final, definitive sound. The parasite was gone.
When Daniel walked back into the kitchen, Mrs. Gable had cleaned up the remaining hair from the floor and was quietly applying a cold, damp cloth to Noah’s swollen cheek. Lily was sitting at the island, sipping a cup of warm chamomile tea with honey, clutching the silver locket in her small hand like a talisman.
“She’s gone, kids,” Daniel said softly, pulling up a stool beside Lily and taking her small, cold hand in his. “She’s never coming back.”
Lily looked up, her mismatched, jagged hair framing her pale face. “Will she try to take our things?”
“She won't take anything,” Daniel promised, squeezing her fingers. “And tomorrow, we are going to fix your hair. We can cut it short into a cute style, or we can go to the best salon in the city. Whatever you want.”
Noah lowered the cloth from his cheek, looking at his father with sudden, serious intensity. “Can we go see Mommy’s garden at the old house? The one Vanessa made us stop visiting?”
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Daniel felt a sharp pang in his chest. Before Vanessa had insisted they move into this cold, modern glass-and-marble mansion on the east side of town, they had lived in a cozy, unpretentious brick home near the park—the house where the twins were born, and the house where their biological mother, Clara, had planted a sprawling backyard garden before she passed away.
“We can do better than visit,” Daniel said, a slow, resolute realization dawning on him. “We’re moving back.”
