"So this is what you've been doing."
"I finished my homework too."
"Don't interrupt me."
Eleanor removed the photograph.
Lily stepped forward.
"Please don't take that."
Eleanor looked at her.
"Why are you so attached to this?"
"Because it's Mummy."
"I know who it is."
"Please."
Eleanor held the photograph between her fingers.
For a moment, she seemed to be considering something.
Then she placed it on the table.
"You may have it back when you learn to concentrate on your schoolwork."
Lily's eyes filled with tears.
"But I already did my homework."
"Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
Eleanor took the notebook and walked away.
Lily stood motionless.
She wanted to follow.
She wanted to explain that writing about her mother was the only way she could remember her voice.
But she had learned that explanations rarely changed anything.
So she picked up her backpack and climbed the stairs.
Halfway up, she stopped.
She looked back toward the sitting room.
The photograph was still lying on the table.
Her mother was smiling in it.
Lily whispered something too quiet for anyone to hear.
Then she continued upstairs.
***
At the security center, Marcus was reviewing the footage from that same afternoon.
The image of Eleanor taking the notebook appeared on one of the monitors.
He watched the girl's reaction.
He watched her reach toward the photograph.
He watched Eleanor refuse to return it.
Marcus stood abruptly.
"Peter, get me Daniel Whitmore's number."
"Yes, sir."
"And arrange a private review of the footage."
"With Mr. Whitmore?"
"Yes."
Peter hesitated.
"Should we inform him about the incident first?"
Marcus looked at the monitor.
Lily was still standing at the foot of the stairs.
"No," he said. "I want him to see exactly what happened."
Peter nodded.
Marcus turned back to the wall of screens.
One monitor showed the little girl disappearing upstairs.
Another showed Eleanor returning to her chair and picking up her magazine.
The contrast was almost unbearable.
One person had forgotten the incident already.
The other would carry it for the rest of the evening.
Marcus looked at the recording timestamp.
He had spent years protecting people from threats they could see.
But this was different.
The danger was inside the house.
And the person causing the greatest distress was the one who was supposed to be protecting the child.
***
Night settled over the Whitmore mansion.
The chandeliers were switched off one by one, leaving the hallways illuminated by soft wall lamps.
Dinner had been quiet.
Lily had barely touched her food.
Eleanor had criticized her posture, reminded her to use the correct fork, and told her not to stare out of the window.
By the time Lily finished, she felt as though she had spent the entire evening trying not to make a mistake.
She went upstairs without asking for anything.
In her bedroom, she changed into her pajamas and placed her school uniform neatly on a chair.
Her room was beautiful.
There was a large bed with white covers, a bookshelf filled with expensive books, a writing desk, and a window overlooking the garden.
But it did not feel like a child's room.
It felt like a room that had been arranged by someone who wanted everything to look perfect.
Lily sat on the edge of her bed.
She opened her backpack.
The photograph was missing.
She looked through the books again.
Nothing.
Her lips began to tremble.
She climbed down and searched beneath the bed.
Then she checked the desk drawers.
Still nothing.
Finally, she sat on the floor and hugged her knees.
She missed her mother.
She missed the sound of her father's laughter.
She missed being able to make mistakes without feeling that she had disappointed the entire world.
A soft knock came at the door.
Lily quickly wiped her eyes.
"Come in."
Mrs. Bennett entered carrying a small glass of warm milk.
"I thought you might like this."
Lily looked up.
"Thank you."
The housekeeper placed the glass on the bedside table.
"Have you finished your homework?"
"Yes."
"Good girl."
Mrs. Bennett noticed the open backpack.
"Are you looking for something?"
Lily nodded.
"My photograph."
"Your mother's?"
The child looked surprised.
"You know?"
Mrs. Bennett smiled sadly.
"I remember that photograph. Your mother gave me a copy once."
"Do you still have it?"
Mrs. Bennett hesitated.
"No, sweetheart. I'm sorry."
Lily looked down.
"Grandma took mine."
The housekeeper sat beside her.
"She may give it back tomorrow."
"She said I could have it when I learned to concentrate."
Mrs. Bennett sighed.
"Your mother would have wanted you to concentrate on your schoolwork. But she would also have wanted you to be happy."
Lily leaned against her.
"Do you think Mummy can hear me?"
Mrs. Bennett's eyes became moist.
"I think the love she gave you is still with you."
"Even though she's gone?"
"Especially because she's gone."
Lily was quiet.
Then she asked the question that had been troubling her for months.
"Do you think Daddy still loves me?"
Mrs. Bennett turned toward her.
"Of course he does."
"Then why doesn't he come home?"
The housekeeper struggled to answer.
"Sometimes grown-ups become lost in their own sadness. They forget that children need them too."
Lily looked at the window.
"I don't want Daddy to be sad."