Chapter 10
Helena left in handcuffs.
The estate watched.
Staff lined the hallway, silent and ashamed.
Some cried.
Some looked relieved.
I looked at all of them and felt disgust burn through me.
“My son suffered in this house,” I said. “And everyone here learned how to look away.”
Rosa covered her mouth.
“I tried to tell Mrs. Romano no.”
“Did you tell me?”
She shook her head.
“Then you told no one.”
Her tears fell.
I did not enjoy her pain.
But Leo had knelt hungry beside a car while grown adults folded towels and kept secrets.
By evening, I dismissed half the staff pending investigation.
The rest gave statements to Detective Vale.
Two admitted Helena had locked the pantry.
One admitted she had ordered Leo to scrub floors.
A driver admitted he saw her scratch the car herself.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked him.
He stared at the floor.
“She said you would kill me for accusing your wife.”
I closed my eyes.
That was the legacy I had built.
Fear so large it protected the guilty.
That night, Leo slept in my bed.
He woke three times.
Each time, he touched my arm to make sure I was there.
At dawn, he asked, “Was I weak?”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
“Helena said crying means weak.”
I sat up.
“No. Crying means your heart still tells the truth.”
He thought about that.
“Did you cry when Mom died?”
“Every night.”
“Were you weak?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not because I cried. Because I let the wrong people close to you after.”
He touched my face.
“You’re fixing it now.”
May you like
I hugged him.
“I am going to spend my life fixing it.”
