He Made Me Pay for Five Years; Now He Regrets

Chapter six

Charlotte’s POV.

The maid led me up the stairs in silence.

I quietly walked behind her, my legs felt heavy and the blood on my face had dried but I could still feel it pulling at my skin.

We walked past a room at the end of the hall. The door was slightly open and a flash of baby pink caught my attention through the crack.

I stopped abruptly.

“Whose room is this?” I asked.

The maid stopped too, her eyes downcast like she couldn’t bring herself to look at me. “It’s the young Miss room.”

Little grape’s room?

On impulse, I walked closer and pushed the door open slowly. From my peripheral vision, I saw the maid reach out to stop me but she hesitated.

The room was beautiful. The walls were coated in a beautiful shade of pink and the entire place smelled like roses. The bed had a canopy with pink curtains and there were stuffed animals everywhere.

I slowly walked deeper into the room and I could feel her everywhere. I reached out and touched one of the stuffed animals sitting on her bed. It was soft and worn, clearly something she had held many times.

There was a miniature piano by the window. I walked toward it and ran my gloved fingers over the keys.

My little grape plays the piano…just like me…

The thought made me smile, even as tears pricked at my eyes.

One part of the wall was covered with colorful drawings and playful graffiti of flowers, rainbows and stick figures that looked like they had been created by tiny hands trying to express a whole world of imagination.

There was one drawing of three stick figures, labeled ‘Mama’, ‘Papa’ and ‘Grace’.

I traced the word ‘Mama’ with my fingertip. The drawing was simple and childish but it was beautiful. A painful feeling pressed against my chest as I bit down hard on my lower lip to hold back the tears.

The room was perfect. But I hadn’t been a part of it.

And that reality crushed my heart harder than anything else ever could.

I had missed Grape’s first step. Her first words. Her first drawings. Her first everything. I had been locked away, counting the days, dreaming of this moment.

And now that I was here, I felt like a stranger in my own daughter’s room.

That made the pain even worse.

I looked around the room again, trying to imagine Grace here.

Did she laugh while playing with these toys?

Did she sit at that little piano and proudly show someone the songs she learned?

Did she talk about her dreams before falling asleep?

My fingers brushed against the edge of the bed, and that was when something caught my attention, a woman's hairpin sat on top of a stack of storybooks beside the bed like it had been left there by accident.

My chest tightened.

The hairpin looked simple, but it felt strangely out of place among little grape’s things.

“Who puts my daughter to bed at night?” I asked, a strange feeling rising in my chest.

The maid shifted uncomfortably. “Miss Sophia does that every night. The young Miss won’t let anyone else do it. So, Miss Sophia sleeps in here with her most of the time.”

My head snapped toward her.

“Sophia sleeps in here?” I repeated, my eyes widened slightly.

“Yes.”

I stood up straight, staring at the hairpin. “Does Sophia live here now?”

The maid nodded. “Miss Sophia moved in five years ago to take care of the young Miss.”

Five years ago.

My mind drifted back to what had happened downstairs, the way little Grape had clung to Sophia and called her ‘Mama’. At that time, I had been surprised by how close they seemed and wondered why a child would trust someone that completely.

Now I understood. It was not something that happened overnight. While I was living miserably in prison, Sophia had moved into my home, taken my place and became my daughter’s mother.

My throat closed. “No wonder she’s so attached to her,” I whispered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.” I kept my face still.

The maid hesitated before speaking again. "Miss Sophia has taken very good care of the young Miss. She has always treated her like her own daughter."

Her words were gentle, but they still hurt. Not because Sophia had done anything wrong–actually that was the hardest part because I couldn't hate someone for loving my daughter, and I couldn't resent her for giving her the care and affection she deserved when I could not.

But a small part of my heart still ached because I was supposed to be the person who filled that place, I was supposed to be the one she ran to.

I walked to the small piano and ran my fingers lightly over the keys and a quiet sound filled the room. I wanted to be happy that my daughter had been loved, and happy that she had not grown up lonely.

But I just couldn’t stop grieving everything I’d missed while it happened.

I stayed in the room longer than I intended. The maid did not rush me–thank goodness–she simply stood quietly by the door, giving me time to process everything.

Eventually, I took one final look around before turning back to the maid. "I am ready," I said softly.

The maid nodded. "Your room is this way."

I followed her out, closing the door behind me. But even after I left, the image of little grape’s room remained in my mind–the toys, the piano, the storybooks and the hairpin beside her bed.

They were all proof that while I had spent years missing my daughter, someone else had been there to hold her hand through every moment I had lost and I might never get the chance to witness those moments again.