Chapter 8 - The Drawing on the WallOn Wednesday morning, Lily refused to enter the foyer.
Adrian found her sitting at the top of the staircase, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
“What's wrong, sweetheart?”
She pointed toward the marble floor below.
“It's slippery.”
Adrian knelt beside her.
“The water's gone.”
Lily shook her head.
“No.”
He followed her gaze.
Alma Ruiz, the longtime housekeeper, had cleaned and dried the marble after the incident on Monday.
The floor was spotless.
But Lily was not looking at the water anymore.
She was looking at the place where it had been.
Adrian sat beside her.
“Did something happen there that scared you?”
She nodded.
“Miss Emily made me not hit my head.”
The words cut through him.
He thought of the force with which Emily had caught Lily's falling body, then the force he had used against her.
The contrast was almost unbearable.
“I know,” he said.
Lily looked up.
“Then why were you mad?”
Adrian swallowed.
“Because I made a terrible mistake.”
Lily lowered her eyes.
“Grandma said it was because Miss Emily was bad.”
Adrian took a slow breath.
“Miss Emily was trying to help.”
“Is she coming back?”
He could not answer honestly.
“I don't know.”
Lily pressed her rabbit against her chest.
“I want Mommy.”
Adrian closed his eyes.
He wanted Grace too.
He wanted her sensible voice, her ability to see through family arguments, the way she could kneel beside Lily and make a frightening situation feel manageable.
But Grace was gone.
And Adrian was beginning to understand how much of the responsibility he had handed away when she died.
That afternoon, he took Lily to see a child therapist recommended by her pediatrician.
Dr. Elena Torres specialized in helping young children process frightening experiences.
She had a small office with soft chairs, colored pencils, picture books, and a shelf of toys.
Adrian explained what had happened as accurately as he could, including his own actions.
He did not conceal the slap.
Dr. Torres listened quietly.
“You've done the right thing by bringing Lily,” she said. “But don't ask her to choose between adults. Our immediate concern is helping her feel safe, not turning her into an investigator.”
Adrian nodded.
During the appointment, Lily drew pictures while Dr. Torres spoke with her gently.
No one pressed her for a detailed accusation.
Instead, they talked about being frightened.
About loud noises.
About things grown-ups sometimes do wrong.
When Lily finished one drawing, she handed it to Adrian.
It showed four people.
A small girl.
A woman in teal.
A man in black.
And an older woman in purple standing near a table.
On the floor was a blue patch.
Adrian stared.
Dr. Torres leaned forward.
“Would you like to tell your dad about your picture?”
Lily touched the older woman's figure.
“Grandma wanted me over there.”
Adrian held still.
Lily moved her finger to the blue patch.
“I went fast.”
“What happened then?” Dr. Torres asked.
“My foot went away.”
“And after that?”
“Miss Emily got me.”
Dr. Torres smiled gently.
“You remember being caught.”
Lily nodded.
Then she pointed to the man in black.
“Daddy was scary.”
Adrian felt something inside him break.
“I know,” he whispered.
Lily looked at him.
“Are you going to do it again?”
“No.”
His answer was immediate.
But Dr. Torres looked at him thoughtfully.
A promise, Adrian realized, was not the same as proof.
He would have to change the behavior that made Lily afraid in the first place.
After the appointment, Adrian carried the drawing home in a folder.
Vivian was waiting in the living room.
“Where have you been?”
“Lily had an appointment.”
“With whom?”
“A therapist.”
Vivian's expression darkened.
“You took her to a stranger to discuss family business?”
“I took her to someone qualified to help her.”
“And what exactly did you tell this person?”
“The truth.”
Vivian's eyes narrowed.
“Be careful, Adrian. You don't know how these things can be used against a father.”
He placed the folder on the table.
“I'm no longer arranging my decisions around that fear.”
Vivian looked toward Lily, who was playing quietly beside the sofa.
“Children can be made to believe anything.”
Adrian stared at his mother.
“That is what worries me.”
He carried the folder upstairs.
At the top of the staircase, he stopped beside Grace's old bedroom.
The door had remained closed for most of the previous two years.
He entered.
Her reading lamp still stood beside the bed.
A few books remained on the shelf.
There was a framed photograph from their wedding.
And inside the bedside drawer, beneath an old sketchbook, lay a blue notebook he remembered Grace using during her final months.
He opened it.
Most pages contained ordinary notes about Lily, hospital appointments, and architectural projects Grace hoped someone would finish.
Then he found a page marked with a red line.
At the top, written in Grace's careful handwriting, were five words.
ASK VIVIAN ABOUT MARSHGATE PAYMENTS.
Below them was a handwritten list of transfers.
Adrian sat down on the edge of the bed.
May you like
Grace had been asking questions about Marshgate before she died.
And nobody had ever told him why.
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