Chapter 2 - The Cold Bedroom
The master bedroom on the second floor was warm, smelling of lavender candles and expensive linen. But when Daniel walked down the narrow basement stairs that night, carrying an extra wool blanket, the air turned icy.
The basement smelled of damp concrete and old cardboard. In the far corner, tucked beneath the exposed water pipes, sat a twin mattress resting directly on the cold floor. A single thin sheet covered it.
Arthur was already lying there, curled onto his side like a frightened child. He hadn’t even taken off his worn flannel shirt, shivering beneath the fabric.
Daniel felt a white-hot fury ignite in his chest, so intense it made his hands shake. He dropped to his knees beside the mattress. "Dad," he whispered, gently placing his hand on his father’s frail shoulder.
Arthur flinched instinctively, pulling his arms closer to his chest. When he realized it was Daniel, his clouded eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Danny. Did I make too much noise coming down? Victoria said I walk too heavily on the hardwood upstairs."
"You don't walk too heavily, Dad," Daniel said, his voice cracking. "Why are you sleeping down here? What happened to the guest room on the first floor?"
Arthur looked away, his fingers nervously picking at a loose thread on the sheet. "Victoria's sister needed a place to store her boutique inventory. Victoria said the stairs upstairs were dangerous for me anyway. She said the basement was safer. Cooler for my joints."
Daniel swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He looked around the barren, damp space. On a small plastic stool next to the mattress sat an empty plastic cup and a half-eaten dry biscuit covered in dust.
"Get up, Dad," Daniel said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’re coming upstairs."
"Danny, please," Arthur pleaded, a tremor of panic in his voice. "She gets so angry when things aren't kept in order. She told me if I complained to you, she’d have to place me in the state facility across the county line. The one where they don't allow visitors. I don't want to go there, son. I want to be near you."
Daniel felt like someone had driven a dagger between his ribs. His father—a man who had worked thirty-five years as a structural ironworker, whose calloused hands had built half the bridges in this state—was cowering in fear of a woman who had never worked an honest day in her life.
"Nobody is sending you anywhere," Daniel vowed, pulling the wool blanket around his father's shoulders and lifting him to his feet. "You are my father. This is my house. And you will never sleep on this concrete floor again."
He supported Arthur up the stairs. When they reached the top of the basement landing, Victoria was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a cup of herbal tea. Her silk robe was wrapped tightly around her slender frame, her blonde hair falling in immaculate waves.
"Daniel, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice sweet yet edged with sharp irritation. "He has an established routine. Dr. Evans told us that routine is critical for elderly cognitive health."
"Routine?" Daniel stopped in his tracks, staring directly into his wife's eyes. "A mattress on the basement floor is a routine? Eating next to Buster's bowl is a routine?"
Victoria didn't flinch. Instead, she sighed with theatrical exhaustion, walking toward them with a pained smile. "Sweetheart, you're overreacting because you've been working seventy-hour weeks. You aren't here during the day. Arthur gets confused. He wanders. Last week, he almost left the front door open. The basement is secure, and the floor keeps him grounded. And as for dinner... I explained that. He spilled his bowl, and he refused to move. I was only trying to accommodate him."
She reached out to gently touch Daniel’s arm, but he pulled away.
"He is sleeping in the master guest suite tonight," Daniel said coldly. "And tomorrow, we are having a very long talk."
Victoria's smile faded for a fraction of a second, replaced by a flash of venomous irritation. But just as quickly, she recovered.
"Of course, darling," she said softly. "Whatever makes you comfortable. Just remember... you don't know the whole story."
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Daniel guided his father down the hallway, refusing to look back. Behind them, in the dim hallway light, Victoria pulled out her phone once more. Her fingers flew across the screen as she typed a message: *He’s asking questions. We need the paperwork signed by Friday.*
***
