Two days later, she left the house for good.
The mansion changed after that.
The pressure that had lived in the walls seemed to ease. Michael opened his study door more often. He spent more time outside. Abigail suggested a proper vegetable patch in the garden, and together they began planning it. They sat outdoors in the afternoons, sometimes talking, sometimes not.
One evening, sitting by the roses in golden light, Michael said, “I think about you more than is probably appropriate.”
He did not say it dramatically. Just honestly.
Abigail looked at him and answered with equal honesty.
“I think about you too. But you’ve just been through something enormous, and I’m still your maid living in your house. Whatever is true between us deserves time and room.”
Michael was silent for a moment, then nodded.
“All right,” he said. “Time and room.”
For a little while, it seemed that would be enough.
Then Thomas came to Abigail early one morning and said Derek’s dark car had been seen outside the gate the night before, circling slowly, lights off.
Michael tightened security immediately and had the police quietly alerted.
Three nights later, Abigail woke to faint scraping sounds outside the side of the house. She dressed in the dark and ran straight to Michael’s room.
He was awake in seconds. He triggered the silent alarm.
Within minutes, the guards intercepted three men inside the compound.
The police took them away.
By morning, the story was already unraveling.
