15. A Door Left Open
Chapter fifteen
A Door Left Open
The wooden joints of the rocking chair released a steady, rhythmic squeak. I pushed my slippered foot against the hardwood floorboards, maintaining the gentle, continuous sway. Petra slept against my chest. Her small, warm weight pressed solid against my skin.
The powdery scent of baby lotion drifted up from her soft cotton onesie. I supported the back of her delicate neck with my left hand, balancing a thick children’s book on my right knee. The rocker glided over the rug, measuring the seconds in the quiet space.
“And the little rabbit found a safe place to sleep, far away from the dark woods,” I murmured into the shadows.
I turned the rigid cardboard page. Petra shifted against my collarbone, releasing a tiny, contented sigh before settling back to sleep.
I traced the edge of the painted illustration with my thumb, rubbing the slick finish.
The nursery was our sanctuary, walled off from the sprawling Stanton estate surrounding us.
Sunbeams cut through the window blinds, illuminating tiny dust motes dancing in the air above the crib.
For the past five days, I played the fragile, exhausted mother. I offered weak smiles and accepted tepid tea from my husband. I let my mother fuss over pillows and adjust the thermostat. I showed them exactly what they needed to see, letting them believe I was too weak to fight back.
The terror of my third trimester was gone. A calm, predatory patience replaced it. I watched the subtle shifts in their behavior all week. I tracked the manufactured tension in Lavinia’s voice and the poorly hidden eagerness in Tobias’s eyes whenever he looked at the estate ledgers.
The trap was set. Bastien’s micro-cameras rested deep inside the crown molding of the master bedroom down the hall. Downstairs, Marta chopped vegetables and prepped my lunch at the kitchen island.
Tobias needed an innocent fall guy, and he needed me isolated upstairs. The trust fund was active. They were just waiting for the mundane routine of the house to settle before making their move.
“Almost time,” I whispered to the quiet room.
I adjusted the knitted blanket over Petra’s tiny shoulders, shielding her from the draft near the windowpane.
I ran my fingertips over the fine blonde hair on her head.
I would burn this house to the foundation to ensure she never knew the monsters living under our roof.
The waiting tested my patience, but I forced myself to sit in the chair and let my betrayers make the first move.
The muffled thump of footsteps vibrated through the drywall.
Bastien paced the second-floor corridor.
His boots struck the carpet in a steady, heavy rhythm.
The nursery door stood open just a crack, revealing a thin sliver of the shadowed hallway outside.
His presence was a solid barrier between my child and the rest of the estate.
I pressed my sole against the hardwood again, leaning the back of my head against the chair cushion.
The pacing stopped. Bastien’s boots paused directly outside the cracked door. His shadow blocked the sliver of light on the carpet.
“Everything clear here, Mrs. Stanton. Your husband and mother are coming upstairs.”
Time was up. I closed the children’s book, smoothing my thumb over the glossy cardboard cover as I braced myself for the final performance.
The nursery door swung wide, the brass hinges whining in the hushed room. Tobias stepped over the threshold, wearing a tailored wool suit. Lavinia trailed a step behind him. A wave of signature floral perfume flooded the space, overpowering the soothing scent of baby lotion.
I needed my hands free. I slid the children’s book off my knee and eased it onto the wooden side table. I brought my right hand back, resting my palm flat against the back of Petra’s onesie. I pulled my daughter an inch closer to my chest, muffling the sudden noise.
“The door was already open,” Tobias said. He crossed the carpet with long, confident strides, acting as if the entire estate belonged to him.
“Keep your voice down,” I whispered. I cupped my hand over Petra’s exposed ear to muffle his harsh tone. “She just fell asleep.”
Lavinia stopped in the open doorway, pulling her winter coat from the hallway hook and shrugging into the sleeves. She drew the lapels tight around her neck.
“It is freezing in here, Cecilia,” Lavinia complained. She adjusted the heavy belt of her coat, casting a critical eye around the nursery. “You should have Jane bring up a space heater for the baby.”
“The temperature is fine, Mom,” I replied. I kept my tone measured, refusing to take the bait. “She has her blanket.”
Tobias ignored the exchange. He stepped directly behind the rocking chair and leaned over my shoulder. His shadow fell across my lap, casting the baby in shade.
The rough wool of his sleeve brushed against my bare skin. I pressed my shoulder blades flat against the wooden rungs of the chair, determined not to shrink away from him.
He hovered over my child, playing the devoted father.
I stared at his polished leather shoes on the woven rug, fighting the urge to shove him backward.
The man standing above me had paid thugs to tie me to a concrete floor.
Now, he was smiling at our daughter. I put on a tired, docile expression, letting him believe I relied on his presence.
“She’s sleeping so peacefully,” Tobias murmured, staring down at Petra. “Oh, before I forget, we’re almost out of the hypoallergenic formula Dr. Williams recommended. I’m going to run down to the pharmacy to grab a few cans.”
He delivered the excuse with practiced ease. The lie was transparent. He had never purchased a single can of formula, let alone memorized the pediatrician’s recommendations. He needed to be off the property. He needed a documented alibi for the exact hour my throat swelled shut.
They planned to spike the food downstairs, walk out the front door, and let Marta take the fall for the crime. Everything was perfectly arranged to keep their hands clean.
Lavinia stepped further into the room, snapping her top button. She exchanged a brief, knowing glance with Tobias over my head. I caught the shift in her expression in my peripheral vision. I kept my focus directed at the sleeping infant against my chest, forcing myself not to look up.
“Please, Tobias, you’ll just buy the generic brand and call it a day,” Lavinia said. She laid the maternal annoyance on thick, leaning into the role. “I’m coming with you to make sure we get the right one.”
They were establishing a joint timeline.
Leaving together guaranteed they could corroborate each other’s story when the police arrived.
They thought I was just a naive mark, waiting in my rocking chair while they finalized the details of my execution.
They had no idea Bastien stood just outside the drywall, monitoring their every breath.
I lifted my chin, meeting my husband’s gaze. I forced a sweet, unsuspecting smile. I let my eyelids droop, playing the drained wife.
“Thank you both,” I whispered, keeping my voice hushed. “I’m just going to put her down and go rest in my room until Marta brings my lunch up.”
Tobias and Lavinia turned their backs and exited the nursery.
The heavy door groaned as they pulled it, leaving it slightly ajar to the hallway.
I remained seated in the rocking chair, my spine rigid against the wood.
I dragged my thumb across the smooth curve of the armrest, tracking the muffled tread of their expensive shoes.
They walked down the upstairs runner, their paces matching in a calculated, unhurried rhythm.
The suffocating scent of her perfume lingered in the room.
It stung my nostrils, a sickening trace of Lavinia left behind in the nursery.
I focused my attention on the empty corridor outside.
Further down the hall, the soft sweep of a polishing rag against the banister stopped. They had found their audience.
Tobias projected his voice, letting the echo bounce off the high ceilings. He made sure the staff heard exactly where he was going and exactly why. Jane’s response carried a polite, deferential tone. She suspected nothing at all.
“Yes, Mr. Stanton. I’ll let the kitchen know.”
Lavinia interjected, perfectly playing the part of the worried grandmother.
“Make sure Marta brings Cecilia her lunch exactly at noon. The poor girl needs to eat.”
I looked down at Petra. The knitted blanket shifted slightly as she slept.
I rested my palm over the warm cotton, shielding her from the poison seeping out of her grandmother’s mouth.
The cowardice of their plan was sickening.
They needed a documented timeline establishing their absence from the estate.
The leather soles of their shoes stepped off the carpeted runner and hit the hardwood stairs.
I traced the sound of their descent, tracking each scuff and click against the wood.
The echoes shifted as they reached the massive marble floor of the downstairs foyer.
A brief pause followed. The distinct, isolated tap of Tobias’s dress shoes split away from Lavinia’s heels.
He detoured toward the back of the house.
His hard soles tapped a hollow rhythm against the kitchen tiles.
I pictured the layout of the countertops.
Marta worked at the central island, prepping the ingredients or plating the food.
Tobias would hover near the archway, playing the grateful husband checking on his wife’s meal.
He is waiting for Marta to turn her back.
He needed an exact window. A moment when the cook stepped into the walk-in pantry, leaving my lunch tray exposed on the prep island. A few drops of concentrated walnut oil would take mere seconds to add. Marta would shoulder the blame, leaving my husband with a clear path to the trust fund.