Chapter 10 - THE LOCKED ROOMThe upstairs study looked harmless in daylight.
Blue walls.
Bookshelves.
A window overlooking the garden.
A velvet chair.
Maisie stood in the doorway with Reid and Dr. Hannah Price, a child therapist recommended by the family pediatrician.
Reid had been hesitant about therapy.
Not because he doubted it.
Because he did not want Maisie to feel there was something wrong with her.
Dr. Price solved that quickly.
“I help kids when adults make things confusing.”
Maisie liked that definition.
Today she asked Maisie about the study.
“You don’t have to go inside.”
“I can.”
Maisie stepped in.
She touched the brass knob.
“Grandma locked it.”
“How did you know?”
“I tried the door.”
“Did you know how long you would stay?”
“No.”
“What happened when you cried?”
“She said it made the time start over.”
Dr. Price looked at Reid.
He had to look away.
“What did you do?”
“I stopped.”
“Were you calm?”
Maisie thought.
“No.”
“What were you?”
“Quiet.”
The difference mattered.
Dr. Price nodded.
“Quiet and calm are not the same.”
Maisie seemed surprised.
“No.”
“That was smart.”
“What?”
“You figured out what you needed to do to get out.”
Maisie looked at the door.
“I hate this room.”
Reid answered:
“Then we change it.”
“How?”
“You decide.”
Maisie thought.
“Can we take the lock off?”
“Yes.”
“And paint it?”
“Yes.”
“Yellow?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Two days later the brass lock was removed.
Maisie helped choose pale yellow paint.
They turned the study into a reading room.
Not because transformation erased what happened.
Because Reid wanted Maisie to have agency over a place where she had none.
While clearing the shelves, Dana found a box of old family papers.
Inside were photographs of Reid and Lauren.
Wedding.
Hospital.
Maisie as a newborn.
Maisie picked one up.
Lauren held her in a hospital bed.
Reid sat beside them.
All three smiling.
“Were you happy?”
Reid sat next to her.
“That day?”
“Yes.”
“Very.”
“What happened?”
The question contained six years of absence.
“Your mom and I loved each other.”
“Then?”
“We hurt each other.”
“How?”
Reid chose honesty without adult detail.
“I worked too much. She was struggling. We argued. We stopped being good at helping each other.”
“Did Grandma like Mom?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Reid looked at the picture.
“They were very different.”
Maisie waited.
“And Grandma thought Mom wasn’t good enough?”
Reid looked surprised.
“Who told you?”
“Grandma.”
Of course.
“What did she say?”
“She said Mom came from trash.”
Reid’s jaw tightened.
Lauren grew up working-class in Tennessee.
Cecelia came from generations of old Asheville money.
He remembered early dinners.
Cecelia correcting Lauren’s table manners.
Criticizing her clothes.
Calling her emotional.
Reid had defended Lauren at first.
Then less.
Then not at all.
He looked at the photo again.
“How much did Grandma say about Mom?”
“Lots.”
“Like what?”
Maisie traced her mother’s face.
“She said Mom trapped you.”
Reid nearly dropped the photograph.
“What?”
“With me.”
He closed his eyes.
“Maisie, no.”
“She said Mom got pregnant so you had to marry her.”
“That is not true.”
They had been engaged before Lauren became pregnant.
Maisie looked relieved.
“She said maybe Mom didn’t even want me. Just you.”
Reid felt anger rise.
Then guilt.
Not at Maisie.
At himself.
“How long have you thought that?”
“A while.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
Maisie shrugged.
“Grandma said you’d lie because you don’t want me sad.”
Reid looked down.
Cecelia had anticipated every route to truth.
If Reid contradicted her, he was protecting Maisie.
If Lauren contradicted her, Lauren was manipulative.
If Maisie complained, she was dramatic.
A closed system.
He took the photo.
“Your mom did not get pregnant to trap me.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted you.”
Maisie looked at him.
“Before I was born?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“I bought a stroller before we even knew whether you were a boy or girl.”
“Was it ugly?”
“Extremely.”
Maisie smiled.
Then her face changed.
“Grandma lied a lot.”
Reid nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He looked at Lauren’s photograph.
“I think because she hated losing control.”
The next day, Cecelia sent him an envelope.
Inside was a six-year-old letter from Lauren.
Only one page.
On it:
I can’t do this anymore. Maybe Maisie is better without me.
Reid read it twice.
Then noticed the page number.
Page 1 of 2.
May you like
The second page was missing.
And he knew immediately Cecelia had sent only half the truth.
Related Stories
