Homebound
1211 Words
Jacob sat in his study, the glow of the city behind him failing to chase away the chill in the room.
His phone rested face down on the desk. Silence. Nothing from Selena. Nothing on the burner Claudia had used.
He glanced at Claudia sitting across from him. “She hasn’t replied.”
Claudia swirled the wine she’d finally taken a sip of. “She will.”
“How are you so certain?” Jacob’s tone came out harsher than he meant it to.
“Because I reminded her who I am,” Claudia said. She placed the glass down with a soft click.
“And people always respond when they watch the memories they cherish being erased by someone who never mattered to them.”
Jacob didn’t trust the confidence in her voice. Still, he found himself hoping whatever she’d set in motion would work.
“You’re playing with fire, Claudia,” he said.
She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Fire keeps you warm, Jacob. And it burns away anything standing in the path.”
He said nothing. He couldn’t decide if it was Selena’s silence that unsettled him, or how much of him agreed with Claudia.
Morning arrived quietly at the Farmington house.
Dale left for work on schedule, suit neat, expression set. He didn’t bring up Selena’s reaction from the night before. There was no need. She would face it when she was ready.
By 10 AM Vivian had her keys in hand, already half-absorbed by her phone.
“Heading out to shop. Don’t set the place on fire,” she told Selena as she walked out.
Selena nodded. She spent the day in the kitchen. Flour clung to her fingers, the blade moved with steady rhythm, and she kept her attention anywhere but on her phone.
She needed the distraction, and cooking had always been the thing that brought her closest to her late mother. She prepared stew, rice, and roasted plantain. The same dishes her mother made on nights when the house felt too large and too still.
By evening, the table was ready. Candles burned. Three plates, three glasses, three chairs lined up evenly.
Vivian came in with shopping bags weighed down on both arms, her nose scrunching at the scent.
“You cooked? I told you the chef comes twice a week. Why not just order something?”
Selena kept her eyes on the table. “I know. I wanted to do it myself.”
Vivian dropped her bags on the couch and sat down anyway. She complained the salt was light, finished two plates, and left the last piece of plantain untouched, deliberate in the omission.
Dale arrived late, freshened up, and ate without speaking. The quiet between them felt familiar. Tense, but familiar.
Once the dishes were cleared, Vivian went upstairs with her bags. Dale thanked her for the lunch and followed ten minutes later.
Selena waited another five minutes, dried her hands on a towel, and made her way to his room. She knocked.
Dale opened the door, still in his undershirt, tie loose around his neck. He looked surprised to see her, but stepped aside without asking.
“Can we talk?” she asked.
He shut the door behind her. “You alright?”
“No,” Selena said. She sat on the edge of his bed. “I have to go home, Dale.”
Dale frowned. “Because of the pictures?”
“That’s part of it,” she said. “But my mother’s reasons aren’t the only reason I’m returning. I need to be close enough to pull information from my father.”
Dale leaned back against the dresser, arms folded. “What kind of information?”
“About Laurent Enterprises. About what happened before my mother died. About why Claudia resurfaced now.”
Selena’s voice stayed low and measured, like she’d been holding it back all day. “I can’t manage that from here. Not if I want him to slip up.
And remember, the only place I can access the old files from when our fathers worked together is at home. Trying to handle that from here would be nearly impossible.”
Dale studied her. “And if he decides you’re a problem?”
“Then I’ll handle it.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t let you go back alone.”
Selena almost smiled. “I’m fine going home alone, Dale. I promise.”
The room fell silent. Outside, Vivian’s music seeped through the walls, loud enough to carry through two doors.
Dale shifted the conversation before it got heavier. “Tell me about your mother.”
Selena’s shoulders eased slightly.
“Her name was Sarai. She loved gardens and she loved cooking with me. She hated champagne, preferred white wine, and she always sang off-key whenever we cooked together.”
Dale listened without interrupting.
“She convulsed and died in her sleep,” Selena said.
“Heart failure. That’s what the doctors concluded. She’d been exhausted for weeks, but she never went to the hospital. Every time she considered it, Jacob told her it was just stress and that rest would fix it. But she never improved. It only got worse day by day.”
Dale’s eyes narrowed slightly. “And you believed him?”
Selena gave a sad shrug.
“I didn’t know what to believe then, Dale. I’d just lost my best friend, and the last thing I wanted was to think my father had something to do with her death. I chose to stay in the dark to keep myself sane.
But Claudia’s message… it made me reconsider. The necklace, the dress, the admission book. Why send all of that if the goal was only to bring me home?”
“But?” Dale prompted.
Selena looked at him, then away.
“But it doesn’t add up. My father loved her. He wouldn’t—”
She cut herself off.
“Say it,” Dale said quietly.
Selena’s jaw tightened.
“It doesn’t matter. Even if I suspected it, I wouldn’t say it out loud until I’ve found the proof I need. It wouldn’t change anything. He’s still my father. And I still need what’s inside his house.”
Dale didn’t press further. He knew when she was closing the door on a topic.
He moved closer, lowering his voice.
“If you go back, you’re stepping into his space. His rules. His people. Are you prepared for that?”
Selena met his eyes. “I have to be. It’s the only way out for us.”
Selena’s phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand. They both turned as she reached for it.
One message. From the unknown number.
“Dinner Sunday. Don’t keep your father waiting. We have a lot to discuss my child.”
The screen went dark.
Selena’s breath caught. She stayed still. Her frown deepening.
Dale noticed the shift in her expression. “Selena?”
She steadied herself with a slow breath. “She’s already planning it.”
“Then we start planning too,” Dale snapped.
Selena’s eyes were clear now. No tears. Only resolve.
She looked at him and said, quiet and firm,
“I’m going home. Sunday.”
- Writer
