Amelia watched him carefully, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she prepared a fresh sheet of paper.
David dipped his brush into the paint and began forming two figures on the page with surprising determination. Amelia leaned closer, tilting her head slightly as she studied the shapes taking form. One figure was clearly a small boy, proudly standing upright, while the other was taller, drawn with broad strokes and darker color.
“Who is that?” she asked gently, pointing to the taller figure.
David did not look up as he answered, “Papa.” His voice remained steady, though something in his shoulders tightened slightly.
Amelia hesitated, her hand still hovering above the table. “He is very well drawn,” she said carefully, choosing her words with care.
David nodded once as if that settled the matter, then added without prompting, “He died.”
The bluntness of it startled her, though she forced herself not to react outwardly. She simply placed her brush down and gave him a small, encouraging smile.
“I am sorry,” she said softly, though she knew apologies could not reach where that loss lived.
She did not ask about his mother, sensing instinctively that the subject might be too sharp.
Yet David spoke again before she could change direction, his brush now moving idly across the page.
“I do not remember my mother,” he said matter-of-factly, as though discussing the weather.
Amelia blinked, then nodded slowly as she absorbed his words. “Perhaps that is for the best, in some ways,” she said gently, but she was not entirely certain she believed it herself. David paused, tilting his head as though considering this carefully.
After a moment, he added, “I have Valerie. She is my sister, but she is like a mother sometimes.”
Amelia smiled faintly at that, picturing the stern young girl with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue.
“And Uncle Gabriel,” David continued, now adding another careful stroke to the painting. “He is very busy, but he is mine too.”
Then, after a brief pause, he glanced at Grover and said with simple certainty, “And I have Grover.” The dog thumped his tail as if in agreement.
Amelia felt something warm and unexpected settle in her chest at that final addition.
Before she could respond, David looked up at her with innocent seriousness and added, “And I have you now too.”
The words landed softly but firmly, as though they had always been true.
Amelia swallowed, suddenly aware of the strange tightness in her throat. “Yes,” she managed at last, offering him a small smile, “I suppose you do.” And for reasons she could not fully explain, that thought made her feel both frightened and deeply, quietly happy.
Later that day, Amelia found Valerie alone in the drawing room, standing in the center of the polished floor as though it had suddenly become a stage. The girl’s posture was rigid, her chin slightly lifted, and her arms moved in careful, restrained patterns that suggested she was attempting something far more structured than simple movement. Amelia paused in the doorway rather than interrupt, instinctively recognizing a private effort rather than a performance. She lingered quietly, giving Valerie space, though she could not help observing the precision with which the girl corrected her own steps. It was only when Amelia shifted her weight that the floorboard creaked faintly beneath her. Valerie immediately stopped.
“I know you are there,” Valerie said without turning, lowering her arms as though caught in something she had not meant to be seen.
Amelia stepped into the room slowly, smoothing her hands over her skirts. “I did not mean to disturb you,” she replied lightly, offering a small, polite smile.
Valerie finally turned, her expression composed but guarded, as if she had already decided how this conversation would end. “I heard what you said to David,” she said, folding her arms with careful precision.
Amelia blinked, then tilted her head slightly. “You miss nothing, do you?” she asked, half amused despite herself.
Valerie did not respond to the comment, only glanced away briefly as though deciding whether to continue. “I wanted to apologize,” she said at last, though her tone suggested the word did not come easily to her.
Amelia remained still, giving her space to continue without interruption.
“I have been difficult,” Valerie admitted, her voice lowering slightly, “but I cannot be less protective of David. I cannot.”
Amelia’s expression softened, and she nodded once in quiet understanding. “I think you would be failing him if you were anything less,” she replied gently.
Valerie’s gaze flickered at that, as though she had not expected agreement. After a pause, she added, more quietly, “I am glad he does not remember her.”
