Chapter 8
Samuel did not deny it.
“I wrote most of them.”
His voice was calm.
Clinical.
That made him worse.
“You wrote ‘I don’t want you’ for a four-year-old.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because fear reveals attachment.”
I stared.
The room went cold.
He continued like he was discussing weather.
Milo’s attachment to me was, in his view, too intense.
His grief over Olivia remained unresolved.
Celina’s upcoming marriage risked destabilizing him.
Grayhaven could “reset” the structure.
“How?”
“Distance.”
“From me?”
“Yes.”
“From Ruth?”
“At first.”
“And Celina?”
“Eventually reintegrated.”
I almost laughed.
The woman terrorizing him would be reintegrated.
His grandmother who protected him would be removed.
Science, apparently.
Samuel believed children destined for family leadership should tolerate separation early.
My father had believed that once too.
I knew because Samuel trained me.
That memory returned slowly.
Boarding weeks.
Locked schedules.
No contact after bedtime.
Lessons about composure.
I had called them camps.
Apparently they were evaluations.
“You did this to me.”
Samuel nodded.
“You benefited.”
I smiled.
“Did I?”
That question irritated him.
He cited my calm.
My discipline.
My ability to lead without visible panic.
Perhaps.
He ignored insomnia.
Distance.
The years I believed needing anyone was weakness.
People love outcomes when they do not have to carry the cost.
Then Leonard said:
“Milo is softer than you were.”
There it was.
Comparison as indictment.
I leaned toward him.
“He is allowed to be.”
The council shifted.
One older cousin looked uncomfortable.
Good.
Then Samuel revealed something else.
Milo was not the first child Leonard wanted brought to Grayhaven.
There had been another.
My older brother, Adrian.
He left the family at twenty-three.
I was told he hated responsibility.
Samuel corrected me.
“He refused the second-stage conditioning.”
My stomach tightened.
Adrian had not simply left Ashford.
He had escaped this exact system.
Then Margaret whispered:
“Your father never forgave him.”
Samuel shook his head.
“No.”
Interesting.
“Your father eventually apologized.”
Leonard looked furious.
There.
Another history hidden.
May you like
My father had changed.
Leonard had not.
