Chapter 13 - The Purging of the East Wing
Two weeks later.
The summer air was warm and light as the windows throughout the east wing were thrown wide open, allowing the afternoon breeze to sweep through the long corridors.
A team of carpenters and interior restorers worked busily inside the estate. The ruined door of Sarah's study had been removed, replaced with a beautiful, light-toned oak door crafted with clear glass panels that let the sunlight pour straight into the hallway.
Julian stood in the center of the study, supervising the installation of a new library wall.
All of Victoria’s lavish, expensive modern art pieces had been removed from the house, donated to local galleries or sold off to fund the legal defense of victims of corporate fraud. In their place were Sarah’s original paintings, her botanical sketches, and photographs of the family from happier times.
Clara—a warm, highly recommended child psychologist who had been hired to assist Noah with his trauma—walked into the room holding a small stack of drawing paper.
"How is he doing today?" Julian asked, turning away from the workmen.
"He's doing remarkably well, Julian," Clara said, showing him the top drawing—a bright, colorful crayon picture of the estate under a giant yellow sun, with three distinct figures standing on the lawn: Julian, Noah, and a memory outline of Sarah surrounded by flowers. "He's beginning to process the fear. The fact that the physical spaces in this house are no longer locked away is helping him immensely."
Julian took the drawing, his thumb tracing the bright yellow crayon sun. "I spent three years locking doors because I thought hiding the pain would protect him. I was wrong."
"Hiding things never protects children, Julian," Clara said gently. "Light does. Transparency does."
Noah ran into the study, his cheeks flushed with healthy color, holding a model airplane he had built with his uncle Marcus the day before.
"Look, Papa! It flies!" Noah cheered, launching the light balsa-wood glider across the room. It soared gracefully through the open glass doors, landing softly on the plush rug near the center desk.
Julian laughed—a deep, genuine sound that hadn't echoed in that room for three long years. He picked up the plane and handed it back to his son.
May you like
"Fly it outside on the lawn, buddy," Julian said warmly. "I'll be out in five minutes."
"Okay!" Noah shouted, racing back down the bright hallway, his light footsteps echoing like music against the hardwood floors.
