Chapter 7: Someone Else's Job Now

Wren POV

Rosalind's morning routine hadn't changed in eleven years. Tea at seven, medicine at eight, twenty minutes in the east sitting room before the sun swung around and made the light too sharp for her eyes. I used to run all of it like clockwork.

I showed up at her door at half past six, figuring I'd get there before anyone else even thought about it.

A maid was already inside, setting up a tray.

"Oh." She looked at me like she wasn't sure whether to be curtsy or apologize. "Miss Calla usually handles the morning tray now. I can go get her if.."

"I've got it," I said. "I used to do this every day."

The maid glanced toward the hallway, hesitating in that way people do when they know they're about to disappoint somebody and would rather not be the one holding the bad news.

"Miss Calla likes to do it herself," she said finally. "She's very particular about it."

"Is that so?" I kept my voice flat. It wasn't her fault. She was just doing her job, same as everybody else in this house who learned the new order of things while I was gone. "Fine. I'll just say good morning, then."

I found Rosalind already sitting up in bed, a shawl around her shoulders, looking smaller than she used to.

"Wren." She smiled, soft, genuine even. "You're up early."

"Habit." I sat on the edge of the chair by her bed, the one that used to be mine by default. "How are you feeling?"

"Some mornings are better than others." She said it lightly, like it wasn't a big deal, the same way she always downplayed her own health for as long as I could remember. "Today's a decent one."

"Good." I hesitated, picking my next words carefully. "I wanted to ask,who's handling your care now? Medication, appointments, all of it."

Something flickered across her face. Small, but I caught it.

"Calla's taken it on," she said. "She's been wonderful about it, honestly."

"Does she know about the tremor in your left hand? The one that gets worse if you skip the morning dose by more than an hour?"

Rosalind blinked. "I… I'm sure she knows the schedule."

"That's not what I asked."

"Wren." Her voice went gentle, the tone she used to use when I was a kid asking questions she didn't want to answer. "I know this must be hard for you. Coming back and finding things different."

"I'm not asking because it's hard for me." That wasn't entirely true, but it wasn't the point either. "I'm asking because you have a heart condition and I don't know who's actually managing it anymore."

She opened her mouth, and I watched her search for an answer that wasn't just Calla's handling it, trust me, the same soft deflection she'd been handing me since I walked through that gate. Before she found one, the door opened.

"Morning, Mom!" Calla breezed in with a small glass bottle in one hand, cheerful in that effortless way she always managed. "I've got your new tonic. Dr. Hallis says it'll help with the fatigue."

"Dr. Hallis." I said the name flat. "Who's that?"

"Oh, he's wonderful, he specializes in wolves with heart conditions." Calla was already pouring a small measure into a spoon, not even glancing my way. "He came highly recommended from one of the border packs."

"How long's he been seeing her?"

"A few weeks now. Why?"

"Because I don't recognize the name, and I used to know every doctor who ever touched her file." I kept my voice even, but something under my ribs had gone tight and cold. "What's in it?"

"It's an herbal blend, mostly." Calla finally looked up, a small crease between her brows like she couldn't understand why I was making this complicated. "Ginseng root, a bit of foxglove extract for circulation, some…"

"Foxglove." The word came out sharper than I meant it to. "You're giving her foxglove?"

"In very small amounts, it's completely safe.."

"Foxglove and a heart condition don't go together, Calla. Not ever. Not in any dose."

"Dr. Hallis is a licensed physician," Calla said, a thin edge creeping into her sweetness now. "I trust his judgment."

"Girls." Rosalind's voice, tired, trying to smooth it over the way she always did. "It's fine. I've been taking it for a week now, and I feel perfectly…"

"A week?" My stomach dropped clean through the floor. "You've already been taking this a week?"

"It's helped with the tiredness," Rosalind said, reaching for the spoon Calla held out, easy as breathing, no hesitation at all. "I trust Calla."

I watched her swallow it down like it was nothing. Like it hadn't occurred to her, not even once, to ask me the one person in this house who used to know her medical history better than her own doctor,whether it was safe.

"Mom." My voice came out quieter than I wanted. "Please. Just let me look at what's actually in that bottle."

"Wren, you're overreacting," Calla said, capping the little glass jar with a soft click. "I know you don't trust me, but this is really for her own good."

I looked at Rosalind, waiting for her to back me up, to ask one single question about what she'd just swallowed.

She just smiled at me, tired and fond, and reached over to pat my hand like I was the one who needed comforting.

Something about that, her blind, easy trust in a bottle from a doctor nobody in this house had ever met sat wrong in my chest in a way I couldn't put a name to yet.