That Night – The Whitmore Estate
The mansion felt colder than usual.
Eleanor sat, untouched glass in hand, the fire flickering without warmth.
In front of her lay two things she couldn’t forget:
The rattle.
A photograph Maya had left. It showed 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?”
But in her heart, she already knew.
She wouldn’t have listened.
She wouldn’t have let him love her.
