Whispers in the Garden
The morning sun broke through the clouds, lighting up the mansion gardens. Clara knelt among the roses, trimming wilted petals while Eleanor hummed softly beside her. The peace felt fragile, like a thin veil over stormy water.
"Clara," Eleanor said quietly, "you don't have to keep busy every moment."
Clara smiled faintly. "If I stop, I'll think too much."
Eleanor's eyes softened. "You've been strong, child. But strength doesn't mean silence."
Before Clara could answer, footsteps crunched against the gravel path. She turned to find Victoria standing there — hesitant, arms folded. It was unusual; Victoria never came to the garden.
"I need to speak with you," Victoria said, voice calm but strained.
Clara wiped her hands on her apron. "Of course."
Eleanor, sensing the tension, excused herself. When she was gone, Victoria took a deep breath.
"I owe you an apology," she said suddenly.
Clara blinked. "For what?"
"For… for believing the worst of you." Victoria looked away. "I said terrible things. I thought you were after our money, that you manipulated Ethan. But I saw something last night — something that changed everything."
Clara frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
Victoria hesitated. She couldn't reveal she'd overheard Marcus and Isabella — not yet. She needed proof. "Just know that I was wrong about you. Completely wrong."
Clara's lips parted in surprise. "Victoria…"
But before she could say anything more, a familiar voice cut through the air.
"Well," Isabella drawled, stepping out from behind a hedge, her smile sweet but sharp. "What a touching scene. Sisters-in-law bonding over flowers and guilt?"
Victoria's expression darkened. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think I do," Isabella said smoothly. "You finally realized that pitying her doesn't make her innocent. She's clever, Victoria. She fooled all of you."
"Enough," Victoria snapped, but her voice trembled slightly.
Clara stepped back, uneasy. She knew better than to argue — anything she said would be twisted.
Isabella tilted her head, her eyes glinting. "You can keep playing the saint, Clara, but Ethan's not blind forever."
Then she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the stones, leaving behind a silence heavy with unspoken truths.
For the first time, Clara saw a flicker of fear cross Victoria's face — not anger, not disdain, but fear. Whatever Victoria had seen, it had shaken her deeply.
And somewhere deep inside Clara's chest, a tiny, fragile hope began to stir — maybe not all of Ethan's family hated her anymore.