Chapter 1 - THE VOICE IN THE DARKNESSOutside the closet door in the quiet, lavender-scented dressing room, Claire rested her back against the mahogany paneling. She didn't reach for the brass door handle. She didn't try to pull Grace out into the light.
"I won't lie to you, Grace," Claire said, her voice soft, steady, and warm in the dim room. "People do leave. Sometimes because they have to, and sometimes because life breaks things we can't fix. But I am here right now. Not because your father pays me... but because I like making sugar-packet houses with you."
Inside the closet, the rustle of silk dresses stopped.
A small shadow appeared as the closet door opened an inch. One dark, tear-stained eye looked out at Claire.
"Grandma said you were taking my dad's money," Grace whispered, her lower lip trembling. "She said... she said everyone who comes into this house gets paid to pretend they like me. And when the money runs out, they go away."
Claire felt a cold spike of shock run straight down her spine.
It wasn't just grief over her mother’s death that was suffocating this child. Someone inside this house was systematically poisoning Grace’s mind, convincing an eight-year-old girl that she was unlovable.
"Your grandmother is wrong, Grace," a deep, heavy baritone voice echoed from the dressing room doorway.
Harrison Cole stood in the threshold. His dark suit jacket was unbuttoned, his tie loosened, his broad shoulders silhouette against the warm hall light. His hazel eyes were filled with an agonizing mix of rage and heartbreak as he looked down at his daughter.
"Daddy..." Grace whimpered, pulling back slightly.
Harrison immediately dropped to his knees on the hardwood floor, sliding down right beside Claire outside the closet. He didn't care about his expensive trousers or his family's pride.
"Grace," Harrison said, his voice cracking slightly. "Look at me, sweetheart."
The closet door opened further. Grace stepped out slowly, clutching a faded plush bear against her chest.
May you like
Harrison opened his arms, and the little girl buried her face into his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. Harrison held her tight, resting his cheek against her dark hair, his eyes locking onto Claire over his daughter’s shoulder.
"Thank you, Claire," Harrison whispered, his eyes shining with unspent tears. "Thank you for staying."
