Chapter 7 - MORNING LIGHT
The storm finally broke at dawn.
Golden, pale winter sunlight spilled through the tall leaded windows of the estate, washing away the oppressive darkness that had gripped the house for years.
Vincent walked up the grand staircase to the west wing. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, but his mind was clearer than it had been in seven years. The phantom weight that had crushed his chest since Sofia’s funeral seemed to have lifted, replaced by an unfamiliar, gentle warmth.
He stopped outside Suite 4B. He knocked softly.
The door cracked open immediately. Clara stood there, fully dressed in her simple civilian clothes—a soft gray sweater and jeans, looking younger and vastly different without the servant’s apron. When she saw Vincent, her shoulders instinctively tensed, but then she caught herself and took a deep breath.
“Mr. Moretti,” she whispered.
“Good morning, Clara,” Vincent said. “May I come in?”
“Of course.”
Vincent stepped into the bright, spacious suite. The room had a king-sized bed, high ceilings, and a balcony overlooking the snow-dusted gardens. On the center of the plush rug, Ellie was sitting cross-legged, humming a childish tune, stacking wooden alphabet blocks that had been brought up from the storage room.
When Ellie saw Vincent, her face lit up. “Mr. Vince!”
Vincent chuckled—a sound so rare that Clara looked at him in genuine wonder. He walked over and sat down on the edge of an armchair, watching the little girl.
“I heard your room was warm last night,” Vincent said.
“Very warm,” Ellie said, beaming. “And the bed is made of marshmallows.”
Clara stepped forward, her hands clasped in front of her. Her wrists were still bruised, but the trembling was completely gone.
“Mr. Moretti... the guards told me what happened at the docks,” Clara said softly. “And they told me Dante is gone.”
“He will never bother you again,” Vincent replied firmly. “Neither will anyone from his circle.”
Clara swallowed hard, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I don't know how to thank you. I don't have anything to give you. I’m just a maid...”
“You are not just a maid, Clara,” Vincent said, his tone resolute. “You are the bravest person in this house. You protected your daughter against a monster, even when you had no one in your corner.”
He turned to look at Ellie, who was carefully examining her small cardigan pocket.
“Ellie,” Vincent said. “You still have one wish left. The third coin.”
Ellie stopped playing with her blocks. She reached deep into her pocket and pulled out the final gold brass coin. It shone brightly in the morning sun.
She looked at her mother, then looked at Vincent. Her small brow furrowed in deep concentration, the way toddlers look when they are trying to solve the biggest mystery in the universe.
“Can I wish for anything?” Ellie asked.
“Anything in the world,” Vincent promised.
Clara stepped closer, smiling nervously. “Ellie, remember what we talked about? You can wish for a pony, or that big dollhouse at the toy store—”
Ellie shook her head vigorously. “No ponies.”
She walked across the rug, stopped between Vincent’s knees, and held the third gold coin out toward him on her open palm.
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“I wish you wouldn't be sad about Sofia anymore,” Ellie said softly. “And I wish you would be my new daddy, so Mommy never has to be scared of anyone ever again.”
***
