Chapter 4 - THE PHANTOM IN THE KITCHENDesperate, Robert fled the bedroom and ran down the back stairs toward the kitchen.
The room was dark, ice-cold, and immaculate. Celia had locked up everything. The French copper pots hung motionless on their racks, reflecting no light. But as Robert stood in the center of the room, his eyes caught a small detail he had missed earlier.
On the wooden kitchen island, right beside the window where the herb pots sat drooping and thirsty, lay Laura’s weathered notebook.
He picked it up with trembling fingers. The cover was worn at the edges, stained with faint rings of coffee and flour. He flipped it open.
It wasn't a book of recipes.
It was a chronicle of his father’s spirit.
Page after page detailed notes on Ernest’s shifting moods:
October 12: Smiled when talking about Amelia’s yellow gloves. Appetite improved by 20%.
October 15: Mentioned the broken arm Robert had when he was ten. Looked for the beef stew recipe.
October 18: He is beginning to forgive himself for the past. The house feels less heavy.
And on the very last page, written in Laura’s sharp, elegant cursive just hours before she was banished:
“A house is just bricks and grief unless someone is brave enough to light a fire in the hearth. Robert is terrified of being warm because warmth requires vulnerability. I hope he learns before the cold takes his father entirely.”
Robert clutched the notebook to his chest. A heavy sob broke out of his throat—the first time he had cried since his mother’s funeral twenty-four years ago.
May you like
He pulled out his phone, bypassing his office, bypassing the board of directors, and dialed a number he had memorized from the personnel file.
It went straight to voicemail.
