Chapter 7: The Guest Room
The Sterling Manor sat nestled on a quiet hill overlooking the city lights. For three years, its vaulted halls had been as silent as a tomb, preserved in frozen grief after Eleanor's death. But that night, the house echoed with running water, soft footsteps, and hushed conversations.
A team of private doctors had already examined Lily, confirming that while her nerve damage remained real, her sudden ability to bear weight was a psychological and emotional breakthrough—a wall broken down by absolute belief. She was now sleeping peacefully in her room, a faint, contented smile resting on her face.
Down the hall, in one of the manor's grand guest suites, Arthur stood by the doorway as a warm bath was drawn. The housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, wiped tears from her eyes as she brought in a tray of warm soup, fresh bread, and a set of clean clothes that belonged to Arthur's nephew.
Leo sat on the edge of the plush king-sized bed, looking completely overwhelmed by the silk sheets beneath his dirty trousers. He held his shoes—or rather, the lack thereof—with an awkward air, tucking his bare feet beneath the frame to avoid staining the white carpet.
"Eat first, Leo," Arthur said softly, sitting on a wooden chair across from him. "Then a bath. You don't have to go anywhere tonight. Or ever again, if you don't want to."
Leo looked at the steaming bowl of chicken broth, then up at Arthur. "I didn't break into the party to take anything, Mr. Sterling. I promised her. I promised Mrs. Eleanor I would find Lily before I left the city."
"Where were you going to go?" Arthur asked gently.
May you like
Leo looked down at his calloused hands. "The authorities were closing the old train yard shelter. They were sending the older kids to state institutions across the border. I ran away three days ago so I wouldn't get caught before tonight."
Arthur felt an ache in his chest deeper than any business loss he had ever suffered. While he had spent three years locked in his dark office, mourning his wife in luxury, this ten-year-old child had been sleeping on cold concrete, holding onto a dead woman's promise like a sacred trust.
