Until his daughter said something that shocked him.
Emily Carter’s suitcase fell to the floor with a loud thud, as if she had left it there.
The voice echoed down the long stone corridor of the estate, mingling with the words that still burned in his chest.
“We no longer require your services,” said Richard Collins.
Without looking up from the papers on his desk.
Three years.
Three birthday party balloons.
Three winters with fever and cough suppressants.
Three stormy nights when Lily fell asleep holding Emily’s hand.
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