Chapter 3 - The Velvet Box And The Missing Years
The twelfth birthday of Leia Mercier was celebrated with quiet elegance in the sunroom overlooking the manicured estate gardens. Paul had spared no expense, commissioning a private string quartet to play soft classical melodies while a towering white-chocolate cake sat centerpiece on the table.
Leia wore a simple emerald-green dress that brought out the warmth in her complexion. Her blond hair fell in soft curls over her shoulders, and though her blue eyes remained sightless, her face radiated an inner light that captivated anyone who met her.
“Make a wish, sweetheart,” Paul said, standing behind her chair with his hands resting gently on her shoulders.
Leia smiled, her hands folded together. She didn’t need to wish for anything material; she had Paul, she had a home, and she knew she was deeply loved. She blew out the twelve candles in a single breath, drawing polite applause from the estate staff gathered nearby.
Claire, who had returned from a three-week trip to London only that morning, sat at the opposite end of the table. She wore a Chanel tweed suit, her expression tight and professional, sipping black coffee as though enduring a tedious board meeting rather than a child's birthday.
“Happy birthday, Leia,” Claire said, her voice completely devoid of warmth. She slid a small, flat velvet box across the table. “A token. From both of us.”
Leia reached out, her sensitive fingers finding the box. She opened the hinged lid and felt the cold metallic edges of a silver charm bracelet.
“Thank you, Claire,” Leia said politely, closing the box. She had learned long ago not to expect maternal affection from the woman who shared her roof, but she always maintained a gracious grace that impressed Paul to no end.
Later that evening, after the staff had cleared away the remnants of the party and Leia had retired to her room to practice her Braille literature, Paul walked into the master study. Claire was standing by the mahogany desk, pouring herself a glass of scotch, her shoulders tense.
“You didn’t have to buy her jewelry if your heart wasn’t in it,” Paul said, leaning against the doorframe.
Claire turned sharply, the glass trembling slightly in her hand. “It’s etiquette, Paul. People would talk if the mother didn’t acknowledge her daughter’s birthday.”
“Mother? You’ve never acted like her mother, Claire. And frankly, Leia doesn’t need a mother who looks at her like she’s a stain on the Persian rug.”
Claire’s face flushed crimson. She slammed her glass down onto the desk, amber liquid sloshing over the rim.
“You think you’re such a saint, don’t you, Paul?” she hissed, her voice dropping into a dangerous, venomous register. “You brought that girl in here, playing the great white savior on Christmas Eve, acting like you cured all the world's miseries with one grand gesture!”
“What are you talking about?” Paul frowned, stepping into the room. “Leia was a victim of abandonment. I saved her life.”
Claire let out a short, hysterical laugh that made the hair on the back of Paul’s neck stand up. She crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with a mixture of terror and bitter resentment.
“Saved her? Oh, Paul... you don’t know the half of it. You think you rescued an orphan from the snow, but you have no idea what Pandora’s box you dragged into this house.”
Before Paul could demand an explanation, the study door clicked open.
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Standing in the doorway, holding her favorite Braille book against her chest, was Leia. Her sightless eyes were turned toward them, and her delicate brow was furrowed in confusion.
“Dad?” Leia’s voice cut through the heavy air. “Who is the woman in the red gloves?”
