MasukThe morning of Day Ten brought a crisp, clear sky that smelled faintly of pine and damp earth. True to his word, Arthur was out in the garden before the morning mist had completely evaporated from the grass. He was wearing an old gray sweatshirt and a pair of stiff leather boots he had found in the back of the mudroom closet. He looked entirely out of place holding a heavy iron spade, his hands gripping the wooden handle as if it were a corporate gavel.Evelyn watched him from the patio, wrapped tightly in her oversized cardigan. She had a small cup of warm water with lemon between her hands, the steam rising gently into the cool air."You're digging too close to the roots of the hydrangeas, Arthur," she called out, her voice slightly raspy but clear.Arthur stopped, his boot resting on the shoulder of the spade. He wiped his brow with the back of his arm, leaving a smudge of dark dirt across his forehead. He looked down at the patch of soil he had been violently turning over for the
By evening, the kitchen had been cleared, and the quiet weight of the upcoming deadline settled over the house once more. Claire had returned with two large suitcases and a box of old art journals she had found in her apartment storage. She sat on the living room rug, sorting through them, while Arthur sat at the small writing desk by the window, a pen in his hand but his eyes fixed on the empty courtyard outside.Evelyn was resting on the chaise lounge, a light blanket pulled up to her waist. Her breathing was even, a small victory for Day Nine, but the silence in the room was thick with everything that had been said before lunch."I found the sketchbook from your second year in college," Claire said, breaking the quiet as she held up a battered black book with a frayed spine. "The one where you tried to draw the city skyline using only charcoal and a kneaded eraser."Evelyn looked over, a faint smile touching her lips. "I remember that. I stayed up until three in the morning because
The morning after Julian’s visit, the house felt larger, colder, and entirely too empty. Claire had gone into the city to gather the rest of her belongings from her apartment, leaving Arthur and Evelyn alone for the first time in days. Arthur spent the early hours in the kitchen. He wasn’t looking at his phone, nor was he checking the morning stock reports. Instead, he was standing over a small wooden cutting board, meticulously dicing a chicken breast for the high-protein soup Julian had demanded. His movements were awkward, his large hands gripping the knife with unnecessary force. Evelyn walked in quietly, her soft slippers making almost no sound on the hardwood floor. She stood by the kitchen island, watching him. "You’re going to ruin that cutting board if you keep pressing down that hard, Arthur." Arthur jumped slightly, nearly dropping the knife. He looked up, his expression instantly smoothing into one of concern. "You’re downstairs early. How are your lungs? Any tightness?
By afternoon, the rain had completely stopped, leaving the terrace damp and smelling of wet stone. True to his schedule, Dr. Julian Aris arrived at precisely noon. He carried a fresh medical kit and a folder of updated charts, stepping into the living room with the familiar, no-nonsense air that Evelyn had known for years.Arthur met him in the hallway, his sleeves rolled up, looking tired but alert. "She had a rough morning. My mother sent her lawyer here. There was a lot of arguing before she woke up."Julian stopped, his hand resting on his medical bag. He looked Arthur up and down, his eyes hard. "An argument? Arthur, I told you her respiratory system can’t handle stress right now. High blood pressure accelerates the fluid buildup in her lungs.""I know," Arthur said, his voice dropping. "I stopped it. I sent him away. But she heard some of it.""Then make sure it doesn't happen again," Julian said bluntly. He bypassed Arthur and walked straight toward the library, where Evelyn wa
The kitchen was remarkably quiet the following morning. Claire was sitting at the island, typing furiously on her laptop, while Arthur was carefully measuring out coffee grounds. He kept his movements precise, almost methodical, as if focusing entirely on the task would keep the rest of the world from crashing down around him. "Marcus texted me," Claire said, not looking up from her screen. "He said you caused a bit of a scene when you walked out of the auction last night. Apparently, Mother looked like she wanted to faint." Arthur poured hot water over the coffee filter. "I don't care how she looked, Claire. I told her I’m taking a leave of absence, and I meant it." "Sarah was there too, wasn't she?" Claire finally looked up, her expression turning sharp. "Marcus mentioned she left right after you did. He said she looked furious." "She won't be coming back," Arthur said, his voice flat. He carried a mug of black coffee over to the island and sat down opposite his sister. "I made
The evening of the charity auction arrived with a biting wind that rattled the windowpanes of the sunroom. Arthur stood in front of the full-length mirror in his dressing room, adjusting his cufflinks. He was wearing a classic tuxedo, the fabric sharp and expensive, but he looked at his reflection with a frown. "You look like the man on the cover of a magazine, Artie. Stop scowling," Claire said, leaning against the doorframe. She was already in her loungewear, a contrast to his formal attire. Arthur sighed, tugging at his bow tie. "I feel like a fraud. I'm going there to smile and shake hands while Evelyn is downstairs trying to keep her soup down." "You're going there because she asked you to," Claire reminded him. "She wants the world to see that the Garrison empire isn't crumbling. It gives her peace of mind. Just do the thing, bid on a painting you don't need, and come back." Arthur grabbed his watch from the dresser. "Is she still in the sunroom?" "She’s in the library. She







