Deep thought
1037 Words
Leah didn’t sleep that night.
Not because of the usual creaks and groans of the house.
Not because of the wind that tapped lightly against the windows.
Because of the voice in her head.
His voice.
The way it had sounded in the foyer — casual, calm, but undeniably familiar. She could still hear it in her bones. The same voice that had whispered her name three years ago, as he knew it better than she did.
She hadn’t even realized she’d memorized it until tonight.
The next morning was quiet.
Rebecca was busy coordinating something with the kitchen staff — brunch for the sister, Leah guessed.
“You’re not needed in the dining room,” Rebecca told her sharply. “Just freshen the flowers and prep the pantry for next week’s deliveries.”
Leah nodded, trying not to look too eager to stay nearby. She moved to the hallway just outside the west wing entrance and found the oversized vase near the stairway.
Sunflowers today. Too cheerful for this house.
She clipped the stems carefully, arranging them with purpose — and staying perfectly still when she heard voices drifting from the parlour just around the corner.
A woman’s voice. Confident, quick.
“… You should come back to the city, Dominic. This place is suffocating you.”
A pause.
Then Dominic’s voice was low and dry. “The city is noisy. I prefer quiet.”
“This isn't quiet. That’s isolation.”
Another pause. Then: “It’s control.”
His sister sighed. “You keep calling it control like that’s not just another form of hiding.”
“You didn’t come here to analyze me.”
“No. But I came here because I’m tired of watching you disappear.”
The silence that followed was long enough for Leah to forget she was holding a pair of shears.
Then Dominic’s voice again — quieter. Almost… tired.
“People disappear when there’s nothing left for them in the spotlight.”
“That’s not true. And you know it.”
“Don’t, Jess.”
Jess.
His sister’s name was Jess.
Leah stepped back instinctively, foot brushing the hallway rug.
The conversation stopped.
Panic zipped up her spine.
She quietly gathered the flowers, trying not to look like she’d just eavesdropped on the most human thing she’d ever heard him say.
That afternoon, Henry caught her humming in the kitchen — something she hadn’t done in weeks.
“Someone’s lighter today,” he said with a knowing smile.
She shrugged. “I guess I’m settling in.”
“Have you talked to him yet?”
Her hand stilled on the teacup. “No.”
“Most folks never do. He moves like a ghost when he’s alone.”
“Is he always… this distance?”
Henry poured two mugs and passed one to her. “Since his brother died, yeah.”
Leah blinked. “His brother?”
“Tristan. Younger. Died in a plane crash three years ago. Mr. Westbrook doesn’t talk about it. But it changed him.”
Three years ago.
Same year as… Raleigh.
The puzzle in Leah’s mind shifted.
Maybe that’s why he disappeared that night. Maybe that’s why he never called. Maybe—
No. She couldn’t go there.
This wasn’t about closure. It was about survival.
And a little boy named Eli who didn’t know his father was a man hiding in the west wing of a mansion that barely felt real.
That night, Leah sat in her room with her phone in her lap. Eli’s face lit up the screen — a photo from last month, cheeks sticky with syrup, grinning wide.
She ran her thumb over the image.
She wanted to tell him everything.
She wanted to tell someone everything.
But secrets don’t keep you safe by being told. They keep you safe by staying hidden.
Around midnight, she heard the sound again — footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Familiar.
Dominic.
She didn’t leave her room.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, her heart racing like he was right outside her door.
In the morning, Rebecca handed her a clipboard.
“Guest suite three needs fresh towels. Mr. Westbrook’s sister is staying another night.”
Leah nodded.
As she turned to go, Rebecca added, “And stay out of the parlor. He’s working there this afternoon.”
“Understood.”
But fate never did like following instructions.
Around noon, Leah passed through the north hallway, arms full of folded towels, when she heard the low murmur of voices again — this time followed by a sharp, frustrated sigh.
Jess again.
“I know I shouldn’t bring it up,” she said. “But don’t you ever wonder what might’ve happened if you hadn’t walked away that night?”
Leah froze.
Dominic answered. “It was never going to be more than what it was.”
“It could’ve been.”
“No,” he said. It was a mistake. A beautiful one, maybe. But it doesn’t matter now.”
Leah’s vision blurred for a second.
She didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.
She didn’t want to.
Because now she knew something else.
He remembered the night.
And still chose to forget.
Leah backed away from the hallway like she’d touched fire.
She turned the corner, leaned against the wall, and pressed her hand to her chest.
He remembered.
All this time, she thought she’d been alone in the memory. That she was the only one who’d carried the weight of that night — the consequences, the silence, the wondering.
But he hadn’t forgotten.
He just chose not to care.
Maybe that was worse.
She sank onto the bottom step of the back staircase and stared at her hands.
Hands that had held a newborn alone in a hospital room.
Hands that had written fake addresses on job applications to avoid questions.
Hands that had reached for hope in a place like this.
And now?
Now they were trembling.
She inhaled sharply and forced herself to stand.
This wasn’t about her anymore.
It was about Eli. And what he deserved.
Whatever happened next, she had to protect him.
Even if it meant keeping the truth buried a little longer.
- Writer
