Livia stumbles out of her father-in-law's room, as helpless as she is hopeless.
She slips into her twins' room once more, despairing at the thought of being separated from one or both of them forever. Their faces, illuminated by the soft moonlight, are peaceful and serene. She wishes she could have their blissful ignorance.
Stroking their faces gently, she mumbles incoherent apologies before making her way back to her room to have a good cry. Everything seems to be spiralling out of her control. Just a day ago, her life was perfect.
The contrast is jarring and difficult to wrap her head around.
She collapses into her bed, too exhausted to change into her sleepwear.
Has she made the right decision? Is she ruining her happiness—and that of her children's—over some petty jealousy? Delaney is dead and no real threat to her marriage. Perhaps the real danger to her relationship with Raylen is her own insecurity.
If divorce means she is losing custody of her children…
She suddenly cannot bear to divorce him.
Tomorrow she will talk to Raylen and her father-in-law. Maybe after some sleep Raylen will be less apathetic and her father-in-law will be less furious. Perhaps everyone will have calmed down enough by morning to have a rational discussion.
She can only hope.
Her sleep that night is fitful as she tosses about restlessly, unable to relax because she is torn between dread and anticipation for the next day.
After a few hours, she wakes up to the ruckus of things being moved and shifted.
Startled, she sits up, only to see several servants packing her things neatly into boxes. She looks around in groggy panic and sees her personal maid Alisha taking her favourite coat out of the wardrobe and folding it.
"Alisha! What the heck is going on?"
Alisha has the courtesy to look uncomfortable. "The Master has ordered us to keep your things immediately. Your future accommodation is also being prepared as we speak and awaiting your arrival. Master... Master…"
"What is it?" Livia demands impatiently. "Spit it out." It is unlike Alisha to be so hesitant. She is usually friendly and chatty.
"Master has also ordered the same for Little Miss."
"Ah. I see. Thank you for letting me know."
That old man is more heartless and ruthless than Livia has imagined.
She looks around her room, becoming increasingly aware of how that geezer has disrespected and violated her privacy.
Why can he not wait till she is at least awake?
His contempt is truly palpable. It makes her feel small and weak.
Some papers on her bedside cabinet catches her eye. They were not there the night before.
She takes a closer look and realises that they are the divorce papers.
A fountain pen is placed conspicuously beside her name.
Raylen has already signed it.
The sight of it fills her with rage.
She can accept her father-in-law being a cruel man—after all, he has never liked her—but Raylen? Is there a need to be so drastic? Do their years of kinship and affection mean nothing to him?
"Out!" she shouts at the servants, too annoyed and agitated to reflect on her hypocrisy. "Out! I need to get dressed."
The servants look at each other with uncertainty and nervousness before slowly trailing out of her room.
She dons a demure dress before rushing to her children's room.
As expected, Cornelius and Cornelia are beside themselves with tears. The twins are hugging each other tightly, as if terrified that they may be dragged apart at any moment.
Given the old man's temperament, it is not an impossible scenario.
"Mama, what is happening?"
"Mama, why are we going away without Cornelius and Papa? I don't want to leave!"
"Mama, what does Grandpa mean? Why can't we stay together?"
As she soothes and comforts her children, she is internally cursing both her husband and father-in-law with insults that would make any seasoned sailor blush.
"It's alright," she murmurs. "Mama won't allow such a thing to happen." Internally, she is painfully aware that if the Vales do not change their minds, there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.
At the same time, her children's distress fills her with indignance and fury. She simply cannot sit aside and do nothing while her twins sob their hearts out.
"We are not getting separated," she promises.
"Really?" Cornelius asks. The hope in his voice almost breaks Livia's heart.
"Yes," she replies.
"B-b-but Grandpa sa—"
'Who the hell cares what he says,' thinks Livia. But, of course, she does not say that.
"This is a game," she answers impulsively. "We are playing a game."
The two children look at her, confused, with their large green eyes.
Raylen's eyes.
"A game?" Cornelia asks slowly. She has always been the more cautious one of the two children. "Mama, what kind of game?"
"A mystery hide-and-seek," replies Livia as her mind spins about in desperation, trying to come up with something plausible. "Cornelia and I are going to pretend to run away from home. We will leave clues behind. It is up to Cornelius and Papa to find us! Grandpa was just acting his part."
At that, Cornelius claps his hand in delight. His tears have dried on his chubby cheeks and a rosy glow has returned to his face. His sister, however, still looks uncertain.
"Cornelia," begins Livia, "believe me. We'll have lots of fun. We are going to explore many different places and we'll bring Cornelius and Papa to our favourite places after they find us."
Her younger child, ever prone to worrying, still looks ambivalent. Livia has no choice but to use her trump card. "Do you not believe Mama's words?"
"Of course I do! I always believe Mama," exclaims the small girl.
"And Mama will never lie to you. Now, pack your things with Alisha. Remember to bring your favourite plushy, Mr Rabbit Ribbit."
"I will, Mama."
"Now, off you go. Alisha will help you. Mama needs to talk to Papa."
Having cajoled the kids and calmed them down, Livia spins around, lets the smile fall from her face, and storms out of their room and into Raylen's office.