Chapter 5 - The Reconstruction of Mercer House
Returning to the mansion that afternoon felt less like coming home and more like reporting back to a crime scene I had personally engineered.
Prescott waited by the front entrance, holding a reinforced cardboard box containing Emily’s journals. He gave me a quiet, respectful nod before disappearing down the hallway toward the security wing, leaving me alone in the cavernous marble foyer.
Upstairs, the east wing was dead silent.
I didn't go into my office. I didn't check my phone for corporate emails or hotel acquisition updates. I walked straight down the long corridor to the girls’ playroom—the expensive, fairy-tale room I had built sixteen months ago, filled with designer toys they never touched and pristine white bookshelves holding unread books.
Lily, Grace, and Sophie were sitting in the center of the plush white rug.
They weren't playing. They weren't drawing. They were just sitting in a tight little circle, holding hands so tightly their fingers were white, staring blankly at the baseboards.
My heart twisted violently.
I didn't rush in. I didn't bark orders or try to force a smile.
I remembered what Hannah had done. I walked slowly to the doorway, sank down onto my knees outside the threshold, and waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Sophie finally turned her head, her big blue-gray eyes—the exact shade of Emily’s—locking onto mine. She didn't look angry. She looked terribly, heartbreakingly tired.
“Daddy?”
The word was barely a breath, softer than a whisper, but it echoed off the high ceilings like a thunderclap.
I didn't stand up. I crawled across the plush white carpet, moving slowly, keeping my body low and non-threatening, exactly the way Hannah moved. I stopped two feet away from them.
“I’m here, sweethearts,” I said, my voice thick, struggling to keep the tremor out of my tone. “I am so, so sorry.”
Grace, who hadn't spoken a complete sentence in over a year, let out a small, jagged sniffle. “Is Hannah coming back?”
The question hit me right in the chest.
“I don't know,” I told them honestly, the brutal truth tasting better than any lie I could fabricate. “I have to ask her. But if she comes back… I promise you, I’m going to change. I’m going to learn how to listen.”
Lily blinked, her lower lip trembling. She reached out slowly, opening her palm to reveal a small, crumpled piece of purple construction paper.
“We made a new picture,” she whispered.
I gently took the paper from her small fingers.
It showed three little girls standing in the middle of a sprawling, colorful garden, holding hands with a tall stick figure labeled Daddy, while two floating figures with halos watched from above—one with dark hair like Emily, and one wearing a bright blue scarf.
May you like
And written in clumsy, heartfelt capital letters across the top:
FAMILY IS BACK.
