Chapter 3
Nessa had known something was wrong for weeks.
Children notice preparation even when adults hide language.
Her clothes disappeared from one drawer.
Then favorite books.
Then her rabbit.
Not all at once.
Small amounts.
She thought staff were cleaning.
They were packing Westbrook.
I did not know.
Why?
Because the bags left through the service wing.
Corisandra told staff they were preparing a “post-wedding nursery.”
True enough to avoid questions.
Then she moved Nessa’s bedtime later three nights in a row.
Why?
To make the wedding-day schedule easier.
Then introduced a new nanny from the Vale side.
Why?
So Nessa would recognize the woman waiting at Westbrook.
Everything had been rehearsed.
I asked Nessa later:
“Did Corisandra tell you where you were going?”
She shook her head.
“She said vacation.”
“Did you want to go?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Nessa looked at me.
“She said Daddy needs wife time.”
My chest tightened.
There it was.
A three-year-old being taught she consumed something scarce.
My time.
My love.
My future marriage.
She had to leave so there would be enough for someone else.
I thought about every evening Corisandra had said:
“You spoil her.”
Every dinner:
“She needs independence.”
Every morning:
“She can’t always run to you.”
Individually reasonable.
May you like
Together?
Preparation.
