Chapter 4 - The Breakdown
The front door opened at four o’clock, followed by the clatter of small shoes dropping onto the marble floor.
“Mommy! Look what I made in art class!” Ellie’s excited voice carried through the house. “We made clay butterflies! Mine has purple wings!”
Dominic, still sitting downstairs in the dark living room with the untouched glass of bourbon on the coaster beside him, closed his eyes in agony. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide from the reckoning he had brought upon himself.
He stood up, smoothed down his jacket, and stepped into the grand hall.
Ellie was kneeling by the front door, unzipping her backpack with eager fingers. When she heard footsteps, she spun around with a brilliant smile—only for the smile to falter slightly when she saw it was just him.
“Daddy? Where’s Mara?” she asked, immediately scanning the hallway behind him. “Her car is in the garage, but the kitchen was dark.”
Dominic swallowed the lump in his throat. He crouched down to her level, but for the first time, he felt dwarfed by the child before him.
“Ellie... come sit down with me for a minute,” he said, his voice unusually raspy.
Ellie’s smile disappeared completely. She clutched her clay butterfly to her chest, her eyes darting toward the stairs. “Did she leave?”
Dominic blinked. “What?”
“I asked her this morning if she was leaving,” Ellie whispered, her lower lip beginning to tremble. “Because she stopped smiling. Did she leave because I called her Mommy last night? Because you told her she isn't my mommy?”
“No! No, Ellie, look at me,” Dominic reached out, his hands gripping her tiny shoulders. “Mara had to... she had to take some time away. To visit some friends. It has nothing to do with you. Nothing at all.”
“You’re lying,” Ellie said simply.
The word was quiet, but it hit Dominic like a physical blow. He had lied to politicians, judges, and rivals, but he had never looked into his child’s face and heard her call him a liar with such absolute, devastating certainty.
“Ellie—”
“You made her leave!” Ellie screamed, the dam bursting open. The clay butterfly slipped from her fingers, hitting the hard marble floor and shattering into three jagged pieces. She didn't even look at it. “You said she wasn't my mommy! You made Grandma mad, and you made Mara cry, and now she’s gone!”
Dominic tried to pull her into a hug, but Ellie violently fought back, shoving her small fists against his chest. “Don't touch me! I hate you! You ruin everything!”
“Ellie, please, calm down!”
“I want Mommy! Bring her back!” Ellie wailed, her voice cracking with hysterical, breathless sobs. She broke away from his grip, scrambled to her feet, and bolted up the staircase.
Dominic ran after her. “Ellie, stop! Don't run on the stairs!”
Ellie reached the top landing, tore down the corridor, and threw open the door to Mara’s closet. Dominic reached the doorway just in time to see Ellie stop dead in her tracks.
The little girl stood staring at the bare racks, the empty shelves, the stark, hollow space that had smelled like lavender and warmth just yesterday.
She dropped to her knees right in the middle of the empty closet floor. She didn't scream anymore. She let out a long, keening whimper that sounded entirely too old and broken for a seven-year-old child. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face, and began to rock back and forth.
Dominic walked slowly into the closet. He dropped to his knees beside her and reached out to wrap his arms around her shaking frame. This time, she didn't fight him. She simply went limp, crying so hard her whole body shuddered violently against his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Dominic whispered into her hair, his own vision clouding with tears he had suppressed for years. “I’m so sorry, Ellie. Daddy made a mistake. A terrible mistake.”
“She’s never coming back,” Ellie choked out, her voice muffled against his lapel. “Just like Mama Caroline. Everyone leaves.”
Those words pierced Dominic’s soul. He realized with sickening clarity what he had done. In his clumsy, arrogant attempt to pacify his former mother-in-law and protect the memory of the dead, he had re-traumatized his living daughter. He had taught her that love was conditional, that motherhood was disposable, and that family was something that could vanish between breakfast and dinner.
Dominic held Ellie on the floor of that empty closet for two hours until her frantic sobs gave way to exhausted, hiccuping sleep.
Gently, he lifted her limp body, carried her to her bed, and tucked her in with Mr. Fluff. He kissed her forehead, walked out into the corridor, and pulled out his phone.
His eyes were hard, wiped clean of all doubt.
He dialed Marcus, his head of private security.
The call connected on the first ring. “Boss?”
“Marcus,” Dominic said, his voice dropping into the icy register that Westbridge had learned to fear. “I need every resource we have. Check train stations, private airstrips, hotels within a five-hundred-mile radius, and monitor every credit card transaction tied to Mara Vale’s maiden name.”
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“Is she in danger, sir?”
“No,” Dominic replied, looking at the wedding ring sitting on the hall table. “She’s trying to escape me. Find her. Do not approach her, do not scare her. Just find out where she is.”
