Chapter 3 - The Woman at the DoorAdrian did not ring the bell.
He opened the front door with his own key and entered a house that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The foyer smelled of white lilies.
A crystal chandelier glittered above polished marble.
Family portraits lined the staircase.
On the largest wall hung a photograph from his wedding to Celeste.
He remembered how happy he looked in it.
Now the image made him feel foolish.
Celeste emerged from the kitchen.
“Adrian.”
She hurried toward him, arms opening.
He stepped aside.
“Where's Rosie?”
Celeste stopped.
“We need to talk first.”
“Where is my daughter?”
“Upstairs. Naomi has turned her against me.”
Adrian stared at her.
“She's two.”
“Two-year-olds can be manipulated.”
He walked past her.
Celeste caught his sleeve.
“Please. You don't understand what happened.”
He turned.
“I saw you strike Naomi.”
“She grabbed me.”
“She stopped you from hurting Rosie.”
“I was fixing her hair.”
Adrian looked at her for several seconds.
“Fixing it?”
Celeste's face tightened.
“She had gotten glue in it. I was trying to help.”
“And your friends found that funny?”
“They were laughing about something else.”
“Chloe was filming.”
“She's always filming.”
Adrian pulled his arm free.
“You cut my daughter's hair while she cried.”
For the first time, Celeste abandoned her pleading expression.
“You're making this sound much worse than it was.”
Adrian's voice dropped.
“Move.”
She did.
Upstairs, he found Naomi sitting beside Rosie's bed.
The little girl was holding the stuffed rabbit Celeste had given her months earlier.
When she saw Adrian, she climbed unsteadily to her feet.
“Daddy!”
He crossed the room and lifted her.
Rosie buried her face against his neck.
Her small fingers clutched his jacket.
Adrian kissed her forehead.
“I've got you, sweetheart.”
Rosie touched her hair.
“Mommy cut.”
“I know.”
“Bad?”
He pulled back enough to look at her.
“No, Rosie. You are not bad.”
She looked uncertain.
“Hair bad?”
“Your hair isn't bad either.”
He gathered her closer.
Naomi turned away, wiping her eyes.
Adrian noticed the redness spreading across her cheek.
“Naomi, she hit you.”
“I'm all right, sir.”
“No. You're not.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, holding Rosie.
“I'm sorry.”
Naomi shook her head.
“You couldn't have known.”
“I should have.”
He looked at Rosie's uneven curls and felt something inside him break.
Mara had loved brushing their daughter's hair.
On the mornings when she still had enough strength, she would sit beside the nursery window and hum while Rosie played with the ribbons.
Adrian remembered Mara telling him that love was measured in the small things people did when nobody was watching.
He had never understood how much that sentence would haunt him.
“Did she hurt Rosie anywhere else?” he asked.
“Not that I saw. The scissors only cut her hair. But she's frightened.”
“Did Celeste threaten you before today?”
Naomi hesitated.
Adrian recognized the hesitation.
“Tell me.”
“There have been incidents.”
“What incidents?”
“Comments. Punishments. Making Rosie sit alone when she cried. Telling me not to comfort her because she needed to learn discipline.”
Adrian stared.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Naomi looked ashamed.
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Last month. I told you Rosie had started crying whenever Mrs. Whitmore entered the nursery.”
Adrian remembered.
He had told Naomi that adjusting to a new stepmother took time.
“She said you were interfering,” Naomi continued. “Then she warned me that if I kept questioning her, I would lose my job.”
Adrian looked down at Rosie.
His daughter was running her fingers across the familiar seam of his jacket.
She had not let go of him once.
A knock sounded at the door.
Evelyn entered.
“Mr. Whitmore, Miss Shaw has arrived.”
Rebecca Shaw stood downstairs with a leather briefcase and the sober expression of someone who had already decided this would not be a pleasant afternoon.
Celeste followed her into the sitting room.
“Rebecca, thank God. Please explain to Adrian that he's overreacting.”
Rebecca placed her briefcase on the table.
“Mrs. Whitmore, I represent Adrian in his personal and business matters. I cannot advise you about your interests in this dispute.”
Celeste folded her arms.
“So he's already hiring lawyers against me?”
“I've been his lawyer for fifteen years,” Rebecca replied.
Adrian entered carrying Rosie.
Naomi followed.
Evelyn remained near the doorway.
Rebecca looked at the child's hair.
Her expression changed.
“Oh, Rosie.”
Rosie hid her face.
Rebecca recovered her composure.
“Adrian, we need a written account from everyone who witnessed the event. Photographs of Rosie's hair and Naomi's cheek. And an appropriate medical assessment.”
Celeste scoffed.
“You're treating a haircut like a crime.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“I'm treating a report of assault and a frightened child seriously.”
Celeste's eyes narrowed.
“Naomi is lying.”
Adrian spoke.
“Then explain what I watched.”
“You saw five seconds without context.”
“I saw enough.”
“No, you didn't.”
The room fell silent.
Celeste glanced toward Evelyn.
Then she made a mistake.
“Ask her why she deliberately reconnected that camera.”
Rebecca immediately looked up.
“How did you know the camera had been disconnected?”
Celeste hesitated.
“I assumed—”
“You said deliberately reconnected,” Rebecca observed.
Evelyn stepped forward.
“Mrs. Whitmore knew that cable was unplugged.”
Celeste pointed at her.
“Don't you dare.”
Adrian watched his wife's face.
The anger.
The sudden calculation.
The fear beneath both.
He realized the afternoon had not begun with a pair of scissors.
Something had been happening in his house long before Rosie crossed the terrace with her paper flower.
Rebecca turned to Evelyn.
“Can you tell us what you know?”
Evelyn swallowed.
“Yes.”
May you like
She glanced at Celeste.
“But first, Mr. Whitmore, you need to understand why Naomi and I made that plan.”
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