Chapter 4 - The Storm Breaks"Alexander, wait—" I started, stepping forward with the letter in my hand.
"I told you the third and fourth floors were off limits!" he shouted, closing the distance between us in three long strides. He snatched the leather album and the parchment out of my hands with savage speed, his fingers trembling as he shoved the letter into his breast pocket. "What gives you the right to rifle through my private life? What makes you think you can dig up things that were buried for a reason?!"
Charlotte let out a terrified cry, dropping the music box onto the floor with a sharp crash. She ran behind my legs, burying her face in my skirt, trembling violently.
That was my breaking point. The anger that had been simmering inside me since I walked through those iron gates finally boiled over.
I knelt down, wrapping my arms protectively around Charlotte, before standing up and glaring straight into Alexander’s furious eyes.
"Don't you ever yell in front of your daughter like that again!" I snapped, my voice ringing with a fierce, controlled fury that made him pause. "You think you're protecting her by locking up her mother's memory in a dusty attic? Look at her, Mr. Whitmore! Look at what your 'protection' is doing to her!"
Alexander froze, his chest heaving as he stared down at me, dumbfounded that a twenty-six-year-old nanny dared to lecture him in his own home.
"She hasn't smiled in four years, Alexander," I continued, dropping his formal title, letting my words cut through the heavy silence like a scalpel. "She carries the weight of your grief because you refuse to carry it yourself. You hide behind your money, your gates, and your bodyguards, but you are the most cowardly man I have ever met."
The words hung in the air, sharp and poisonous.
For three terrifying seconds, I thought he was going to fire me, throw me out into the Greenwich cold without a dime, or worse. The muscles in his jaw worked frantically. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides.
Then, very slowly, the fierce anger in his eyes shattered, replaced by a devastating, hollow defeat.
"Get out of my sight," he whispered hoarsely, not looking at either of us. He turned his back, walking over to the skylight and staring out into the gray afternoon sky. "Take Charlotte to her room. And pack your bags, Miss Carter. Your services are no longer required."
I didn't argue. I didn't beg.
I picked up the weeping little girl, held her tight against my chest, and walked out of the attic without looking back.
Thirty minutes later, my packed bag sat by the front door. Mrs. Parker stood near the grand staircase, her eyes filled with sorrow as she handed me a white envelope containing my final week's pay.
"I'm sorry, child," Mrs. Parker murmured. "He's wounded beyond repair. No one is allowed to touch the scab."
"Wounds don't heal if you keep them bandaged in the dark, Mrs. Parker," I replied softly, sliding the envelope into my purse.
I knelt down in the foyer to say goodbye to Charlotte, who was clutching Oliver so tightly her little knuckles were white. Her big brown eyes swam with unshed tears.
"Are you going away like the others, Emily?" she whispered, her voice breaking my heart into a thousand pieces.
"I have to, sweet girl," I said, smoothing her dark hair back from her forehead. "But remember what I told you. Music doesn't stop just because the song ends. Whenever you feel lonely, you sing. Promise me?"
May you like
Charlotte nodded solemnly, a single tear escaping her eye.
I stood up, gave Mrs. Parker a polite nod, and pushed open the heavy front doors of the Whitmore estate, stepping out onto the gravel path into the freezing autumn rain.
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