By the time we returned to the Lutheral Estate, it was already dark.
I had fallen asleep in the car.
The shopping bags were piled beside me, and when I woke up, I was being carried toward the house.
For a moment, I didn't know where I was.
Then I saw the gates.
The fountains.
The enormous mansion.
And remembered.
---
My room looked different.
Someone had changed it while I was gone.
The curtains were new.
The blankets were softer.
There were books on a shelf that hadn't been there before.
Even the room smelled different.
Cleaner.
Warmer.
Prepared.
As though someone had decided I would be staying longer than expected.
The thought made me uneasy.
Because no matter how comfortable the room became, it still wasn't mine.
---
Later that evening, I discovered something useful.
The top of the staircase was the perfect place to hide.
From there, I could see most of the entrance hall below.
And if I sat very still, nobody noticed me.
It felt like having a secret observation post.
So after dinner, I curled up beside the railing and watched the house.
---
The front doors opened.
Immediately, the atmosphere changed.
Maids appeared.
Staff members straightened.
Conversations lowered.
The entire house seemed to rearrange itself.
Like everyone had suddenly remembered they were being watched.
Two women entered.
One of them was Mrs. Lutheral.
I recognized her immediately.
The other woman was younger.
Elegant.
Beautiful.
But there was something tense about her expression.
Like she was carrying a headache nobody else could see.
---
I remembered something Nanny Zima had mentioned earlier.
A sister-in-law.
And apparently not a very friendly one.
So I stayed hidden.
Listening.
Watching.
---
The women moved into the sitting room below.
Their voices drifted easily through the house.
Nobody seemed concerned about privacy.
Perhaps people who lived in houses this large assumed children weren't hiding on staircases listening to them.
If so, they were mistaken.
---
"How are you feeling?" Mrs. Lutheral asked.
The younger woman sighed.
"The doctors say I need more time."
There was a pause.
Then she added quietly:
"The miscarriage had complications."
I didn't fully understand what that meant.
But the sadness in her voice was impossible to miss.
"We'll try again."
Mrs. Lutheral reached for her hand.
Neither woman spoke for a moment.
---
Then the younger woman broke the silence.
"I heard something interesting from the hospital."
Mrs. Lutheral looked up.
"What?"
The younger woman leaned back.
"There was an accident."
My attention sharpened immediately.
Something about her tone made my stomach tighten.
---
"They admitted a woman in a coma."
Mrs. Lutheral frowned.
"Who?"
The younger woman gave a short laugh.
Not a happy one.
The kind adults use when discussing someone they dislike.
"Regina."
---
Everything inside me stopped.
My fingers tightened around the railing.
Regina.
My mommy.
They were talking about my mommy.
---
"That's impossible," someone said.
"Regina is dead."
The younger woman shook her head.
"Apparently not."
My heart started pounding.
So loudly I was sure they could hear it downstairs.
---
"She was hit by a car."
The woman sounded completely calm.
Like she was discussing the weather.
"Two weeks ago."
I stopped breathing.
Two weeks.
That was my mommy.
It had to be.
---
"She's still unconscious."
The room spun slightly.
Not from fear.
From relief.
Because unconscious wasn't dead.
Sleeping wasn't dead.
The doctors had been right.
She was still alive.
Somewhere.
---
Then the younger woman's expression hardened.
And the relief disappeared.
"After everything she did..."
The bitterness in her voice surprised me.
It sounded old.
Deep.
Like she'd been carrying it for years.
"They're still trying to save her."
A cold silence followed.
Then she added:
"If it were up to me, I'd let her rot."
---
I stared.
Certain I'd heard her wrong.
People didn't talk about my mommy like that.
Not my mommy.
Not the woman who sang to me when I was afraid.
Not the woman who worked herself exhausted just to keep food on our table.
Not the woman who pushed me out of the road.
---
Another voice spoke.
"She deserves it."
Someone else nodded.
"After what she did to your sister."
The younger woman's jaw tightened.
"She put my sister in a coma first."
The words landed like stones.
Heavy.
Impossible.
---
My thoughts tangled immediately.
My mommy?
Put someone in a coma?
No.
That didn't make sense.
None of it made sense.
The woman they were describing sounded like a stranger.
Not my mother.
Not Regina.
Not the person who tucked blankets around me at night.
---
I pressed harder against the wall.
Trying to hear more.
Trying to understand.
Trying to figure out what they were talking about.
Because suddenly it felt like everyone knew something except me.
---
A hand grabbed my arm.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
A maid stood behind me.
Her eyes widened with panic.
"You shouldn't be here."
The words came out in a harsh whisper.
Before I could react, she pulled me away from the staircase.
---
I twisted around, desperate to keep listening.
But it was too late.
The voices faded.
The sitting room disappeared from view.
And moments later, I was back inside my bedroom.
The door closed behind me.
---
The room felt different now.
Smaller.
Colder.
Full of questions.
I sat down on the floor because suddenly standing felt difficult.
My mommy was alive.
That should have been enough.
That should have been all that mattered.
But it wasn't.
Because now there was something else.
Something I couldn't stop thinking about.
---
The people in this house knew my mother.
Not casually.
Not from a newspaper.
They knew her.
And somehow, they hated her.
The bitterness in their voices had been real.
Personal.
Old.
---
I pulled my knees against my chest.
Trying to make sense of it.
Trying to fit the pieces together.
But nothing fit.
The Regina they described wasn't the Regina I knew.
My mother wasn't cruel.
She wasn't evil.
She wasn't someone who deserved to suffer.
She couldn't be.
I knew her.
Didn't I?
---
The room grew quiet.
And for the first time since arriving at the Lutheral Estate, I felt truly confused.
Not about where I was.
Not about what would happen next.
About my own mother.
About the things nobody had told me.
About the secrets hiding behind her silence.
---
I rested my forehead on my knees.
And thought about everything I still didn't know.
There were too many questions.
Not enough answers.
And in that moment, despite the beautiful room, the warm bed, and the safety of the estate, only one thought remained.
I want my mommy.