If there were moments of bliss that lingered on Ria's taste buds, they were the delicious pancakes melting in her mouth. She adored them, and the idea of having them every day didn't bother her one bit-thanks to her mother's unwavering commitment. Each morning, the dining table would transform into a culinary haven: stacks of golden pancakes, a steaming cup of hot chocolate;the perfect pancake accomplice, and an extra touch of bacon and scrambled eggs. Her mother's culinary artistry was a labor of love, and Ria, despite her youthful appetite, made sure to savor every bite. After all, her mother poured so much effort into those breakfast delights.
Today followed the familiar routine, with one delightful exception: her biweekly gift. A beautiful dress, carefully chosen to grace her modest wardrobe. They weren't wealthy; Ria understood that well. Her mother's own collection of dresses was sparse, yet she ensured Ria never lacked. Ria never complained; as long as her mother was happy, contentment settled within her. She didn't crave an abundance of clothes; her mother's surprises were enough. At twelve, Ria appreciated the depth of her mother's love and vowed to study hard, hoping to reciprocate someday with a gift of her own.
As Ria sliced through the bacon with her knife, she heard her mother's movements-first from the laundry room, then into her own chamber. The silence that followed signaled her mother's preparations for the arrival of Master John.
The name stirred memories, though the face remained elusive. Uncle John, as her mother had introduced him during Ria's tenth birthday. But Ria wasn't the naive child some believed her to be. She had observed their interactions-the glances exchanged, the subtle touches when they thought no one was watching. She concluded that blood ties didn't bind her to this man. Ms. Fletcher's teachings echoed in her mind: "Chastity" until marriage. Yet, a book had contradicted that notion-a lady engaged to her soon-to-be husband, holding hands and playing in the park. Ria had sought Ms. Fletcher's approval, and it seemed permissible, given the impending bond.
Her mother and Master John shared a connection-one that hinted at a deeper relationship. Ria sensed that a bond would soon form between them. But for now, if her mother called him Uncle John, Ria would do the same.
Resigning herself to her meal, Ria's enjoyment was abruptly interrupted by a persistent knock on the door. Initially reluctant to answer, she glanced up, hoping her mother would hear and take care of it. But the second knock shattered that hope, prompting her to drop her cutlery and rise from her chair. If this was Master John at the door, he had just lost a point in her book.
As she reached the door, the third knock coincided with her hand on the knob. She swung it open to reveal an unfamiliar face. Though she couldn't recall Master John's features precisely, she knew this man wasn't him.
The stranger stood before her, draped in a tailored coat of deep burgundy velvet, its gold embroidery whispering of aristocratic elegance. Beneath the coat, a shimmering silk waistcoat hugged his form, while impeccably black trousers flowed gracefully over his legs. Atop his head perched a stylish black hat—a striking ensemble that screamed privilege. This attire was worlds apart from Master John's usual style during their first encounter. Ria's eyes darted to his face, where a smug smile played, as if he held some secret.
Puzzlement etched her features. Who was he, and why did he regard her like a prized possession?
But thoughts alone were futile; action was necessary. Irritation surged—after all, he had disrupted her meal, treating her like an inconvenience.
"Who are you?" Her voice matched her disinterest. Whoever he was, he'd lost significant points with her.
The man smirked, his voice surprisingly calm. "Oh, don't you know who I am?" he inquired, extinguishing his earlier curiosity.
Ria sensed her mother descending the stairs; her hand still clung to the doorknob. Whoever this man was, he wouldn't cross the threshold until her mother allowed it.
He seemed to read her intent, offering another smug smile. In a hoarse voice, he teased, "Isn't that a bad way to treat your…"
"Derek!" the yell came from behind.
Ria turned to find her mother at the base of the stairs, shock etching her features. Beautifully dressed, makeup enhancing her pale face, Gladys would have been the room's most striking figure—if not for the blood-drained pallor.
Tension hung in the air, and for a minute, both her mother and the man now known as Derek locked eyes. To Ria, it felt like they communicated silently, their unspoken words weaving a web of secrets. Whatever it was, she knew she wasn't meant to hear it.
Her mother stepped toward her, releasing her grip on the doorknob.
"Go finish up your breakfast," she said, smiling. Her face seemed to regain its color; the shock had dissipated.
Nodding in response, Ria turned once more and glared at the man before retreating to the kitchen, where her meal awaited—now cold.
She heard her mother usher the man in and close the door behind him. They walked to the sitting room. Ria was just across the room, making it easy for her to hear their conversation.
"How did you find this place?" She heard her mother ask.
"It wasn't that hard to find, I assure you," the man replied, his voice laced with mockery. "Is this even considered hiding?" he added.
There it was—the mockery she sensed. Ria tightened her grip on the fork she was holding. This Derek guy had surely lost all points with her.
"I would offer you tea, but I don't think a man like you would drink from my measly mug," her mother retorted, ignoring his previous question.
Ria smiled. From her classes with Ms. Fletcher and her book reading sessions, she knew it was her mother's way of saying, "You aren't welcome." She was proud of her mother.
"Oh, I wouldn't want to stress you, given you are beautifully dressed," Derek replied. "Perhaps the splendor was meant for me?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.
"I wonder why you trouble yourself. You should have called or, better still, dropped a letter at the library," Ria heard her mother say. "Why have you come here?" she asked.
"I gave our last discussion some thought and wanted to relay my answer to you," he replied.
What could they have possibly talked about? Ria wondered.
The room settled into a slight silence, and Ria wondered if they were engaged in another silent duel. This time, however, she had no means of finding out. An idea struck her, and she stood up from the table. Clearing the dishes to the sink seemed like a good excuse. Immediately, she picked up the first plate—the one that had previously held the pancake—and headed to the sink. As she set it down, she caught sight of her mother's face, etched with worry and fear. Derek stood with his back to her, preventing her from discerning his expression.
Her eyes darted back to her mother, who was staring right back at her.
Caught in the act.
Her mother stood from the chair with a faint "excuse me" and went straight to the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" she asked, collecting the sponge from Ria.
"I'm sorry; I was…" Ria began to confess but was cut short by her mother.
"Who asked you to wash the dishes? I always do that," her mother retorted.
Ria was shocked. Was her mother upset because she was doing the dishes or because she had eavesdropped on their conversation? She wondered.
"Ria," her mother called her name calmly, her hand stroking her head. "Why don't you go tend to the flowers in the garden? I'll be with you soon." She smiled at her.
Ria understood the message: her mother wanted her out of the room while she discussed things with the annoying man, Derek.
Smiling in acknowledgment, Ria stepped out of the house and headed straight for the garden behind it. Although she was happy to tend to the flowers, she remained worried about her mother. The Derek man was not to be trusted.
She retrieved the watering can from the small shed where they stored their gardening tools. Filling it from the basin left outside by her mother, she proceeded to water the flowers. It was their daily routine—after Ria finished her classes with Ms. Fletcher, they tended to the garden. But today, she had to do it alone, thanks to annoying Derek.
To vent her frustration, Ria pictured the weeds as Derek and pulled them from the soil mercilessly. Each pull was accompanied by a muttered curse.
Pull – "Take that, scum face."
Pull – "Bloody goose."
Pull – "Pokerface." And on and on she went. Most of the words, she didn't even know their meaning; she had come across them in her books.
In less than ten minutes, not only was she out of grass to pull, but she was also out of cuss words. Tired, she sat on the bench and closed her eyes to rest. Amidst her peaceful short nap, she did not hear the front door open, nor did she hear the annoying Derek take his leave. Nor did she hear the door open a second time. Soon after, a fly buzzed near her ear, startling her and cutting her nap short.
She stood up, stretched her hands, and looked at the flowers. She had watered them and weeded out the unwanted grass. She had also trimmed some of the flowers. Now there was nothing left to do. Were they still talking inside? She wondered. As she walked around the garden, inspecting the flowers for the third time, she remembered the seeds Ms. Fletcher had given her. She had left them in her room while dressing for breakfast. Rushing out, she had forgotten to carry them. How could she go back to pick them up now, with her mother and Derek inside? She didn't want her mother to think she was trying to eavesdrop on their discussion, nor did she want to interrupt. But she had nothing else to do in the garden, especially without the seeds from her room. What was she going to do?
Then, like a light bulb flickering to life, an idea popped into her head. She could climb the ladder and enter the laundry room through the window. That way, they wouldn't even know she was inside at all.
Carefully, Ria struggled and pulled the ladder until she was sure it was well aligned with the window. She then removed her shoe, fearing it might make a sound. Satisfied with her approach, she climbed the ladder, one step at a time. When she reached the window, she carefully opened it, praying it wouldn't creak like the other windows in the house. Luckily, it remained silent, and she slid into the room as quietly as possible.
With the first step complete, all she had to do was open the door and move to her room opposite the laundry room. But there was a problem: the door.
The doors in the house creaked upon opening, and she knew this one would too. Unsure if it was the hinge or the gap beneath the door causing the noise, she decided to risk it. Perhaps they would be too engrossed in their discussion to hear the creak, she hoped.
Ransacking the laundry basket, she found a towel and dampened it with water from a nearby bucket. Squeezing it tightly, she placed the towel at the bottom of the door, aligning it perfectly to fit the width. Then, with utmost care, she opened the door.
At first, it made a low creak that made her heart jump, but she pushed it a little further. The towel made it difficult, but the door remained silent. Happily, she opened it wider.
The second step was complete. Thankfully, her room's door didn't make any sound, allowing her to enter without stress. Inside, she looked at her dressing table and found the seed she had left there. Ms. Fletcher had called it a flower, but Ria didn't know what kind. She decided to plant it and see what it grew into—a game she loved playing with her tutor. Smiling, she picked up the flower and proceeded with her escape plan, retracing her steps.
As she left her room, she tiptoed to the laundry room opposite, grateful she had removed her shoes earlier. Curiosity tugged at her, urging her to check on her mother and the annoying Derek. But she resisted. If she wanted to see their expressions, she should have walked through the door, not sneaked in like a thief through the window. Pushing aside that thought, she turned the knob of the laundry room door and started to push.
Then she heard it—the shattering of glass.
Ria froze. Her right hand still held the doorknob, and her left clutched the seed. Had she dropped something? But no, another shatter came, this time from downstairs.
Confused and fearful, her heart raced. Were Derek and her mother fighting? Or had her mother accidentally broken something? She stood fixed in place.
Should she check? What if it was the former? She'd be the only one around, and it would take her at least ten minutes to reach the nearest neighbor. Would her mother be okay? But if it was the latter, would her mother scold her for entering despite being told to stay out?
Deciding it was better to check first, she tiptoed toward the stairs. If it was the latty, she needed to do so without making a noise. Crouching down, she peered through the rails. All she could see was a broken vase, and she heard someone struggling.
Carefully, Ria descended another step, seeking a clearer view. This time, she observed the back of a figure dressed in a black coat, the trousers equally oversized. The person adjusted a top hat, pulling it down to conceal their face.
Struggling ensued. The darkly dressed individual was pushed to the floor, the hat tumbling off. Swiftly, they retrieved it, but not before Ria noticed two crucial details: the person was a woman, and a mole adorned the base of her ear. Yet, her face remained elusive.
Her mother's scream pierced the air. "Stop this!" she yelled.
"Not until you're dead," the lady retorted.
Ria watched in horror as the woman lunged forward, the sounds of their struggle echoing. Fear rooted her to the spot; she couldn't even move a finger.
Then came the crash—a vase shattered. Her mother, dress torn, crawled on the floor, blood seeping from small cuts. Desperate, she inched toward the kitchen door, seeking distance from the unknown assailant.
Tears streamed down Ria's face. She tried to call out, but her voice betrayed her. Her body remained unresponsive. Her mother turned, attempting to block the woman with her right hand, but the assailant seized it. Knife in hand, she loomed over Ria's mother, and with a swift motion, she cut open her wrist.
Ria's mother screamed in pain, trying to push the woman away with her left hand. But the woman caught her hand and inflicted the same brutal cut on her wrist.
Ria attempted to scream at the woman, but neither her voice nor her body obeyed. She had read about people going into shock, but it had never occurred to her that it could be so paralyzing. She couldn't even attempt to save her mother.
Her mother lay on the floor, both hands bleeding, barely mustering enough strength to move. The woman bent down, whispering something into her mother's ear. Whatever it was, it widened her mother's eyes in fear. The woman then produced a napkin, meticulously cleaning the knife handle before dropping it on the floor. Once done, she tidied herself and left the house.
Ten minutes passed before Ria regained control of her body. Trembling, she screamed, calling for her mother as she descended the stairs. Her mother lay atop her own blood, barely breathing. Ria reached her, unsure of what to do.
"Mother, wake up," she cried, tapping her mother lightly.
"Mother…please," she tapped her mother, tears streaming down her face.
Her trembling hands and shaky voice left her paralyzed. Finally, her mother's eyes fluttered open, fixing on Ria. She tried to speak, but her voice was barely audible. Ria bent down, placing her ear close to her mother's mouth, desperate to hear her words. And then she heard it:
"Don't hurt my baby…please."
Her mother's eyes closed again. Terrified for her mother's life, Ria sprang to her feet and ran out the door.
Her mother needed help—she was dying. As Ria dashed down the hill to the street below, she repeated to herself that nothing would happen. But she needed someone to save her mother, someone other than the neighbors who would merely spectate.
Mrs. Clara.
Yes, Mrs. Clara—an elderly woman downtown. When Ria was sick, her mother had taken her to Mrs. Clara's house for treatment. If anyone could save her mother now, it would be Mrs. Clara.