The mansion had always looked vast to Lydia — corridors like rivers of marble, staircases that rose like ivory cliffs, rooms filled with furniture that seemed to belong to another world. Now, without the hum of dozens of helpers, the scale of it felt like a burden. Every tile, every window, every chandelier demanded attention. Every piece of dust whispered her name.
She rose before dawn, as she had for weeks, and moved through the quiet house with the practiced carefulness of someone keeping a fragile peace. When the rest of the staff had been there, chores had been shared — meals, laundry, polishing, tending the garden — each person holding a small piece of the whole. Now the whole rested on her shoulders.
By the time the first light bled through the long windows, she had swept two hall
