That Night – The Whitmore Estate
The mansion felt colder than usual.
Eleanor sat with an untouched glass in hand, the fire flickering without warmth.
Before her lay two things she couldn’t forget:
The rattle.
A photograph Maya had left — Jonathan in a café, arm around Maya, laughing freely. He looked… whole. A joy Eleanor hadn’t seen — or perhaps refused to see.
Her gaze shifted to the baby in the photo. Those eyes. Jonathan’s eyes.
She whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
In her heart, she already knew. She wouldn’t have listened. She wouldn’t have let him love her.
