Chapter 4

"He's crazy! He just attacked me!" Howard chokes out, blood bubbling from his nostrils. "Buster bit me, and he just went insane!"

Charlotte rushes to Howard's side, helping him up, her expression a mixture of fear and disgust as she looks at me.

I don't say anything. There are no words. My gaze drifts past her, to the patio below. To the small, still body.

I stumble down the stairs, past them, my every step an agony. I walk out into the garden as a cold drizzle begins to fall. I kneel beside Buster, my hands hovering over his broken form, afraid to touch him, to confirm what I already know.

His eyes are open, glassy. He's gone.

Sobs rack my body, violent and silent. I pull off my jacket and gently wrap him in it. I carry him to the old oak tree at the edge of the property, the place we used to play.

With my bare hands, I dig. The cold, wet earth packs under my fingernails. The rain plasters my hair to my skull. I dig until my fingers are raw and bleeding.

I lay him in the shallow grave.

"I'm sorry, boy," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

I return to the house, soaked and shivering, my heart a hollow cavern in my chest. Howard is sitting on the sofa, an ice pack on his face, being fussed over by a maid. Charlotte is nowhere to be seen.

He sees me and his eyes glint. "Feeling better now that you've had your little tantrum?"

I just walk past him.

Later that night, the real torture begins. It's a series of small, cruel cuts.

Howard "accidentally" spills a cup of scalding hot coffee on my hand as I pass him in the kitchen.

"Oh, clumsy me," he says, without a hint of remorse.

I cry out, pulling my hand back. The skin is already red and blistering.

Charlotte walks in at that exact moment. For a split second, I see a flicker of concern in her eyes, the old Charlotte who would have rushed for the first aid kit.

"My love, my nose is throbbing again," Howard whimpers, cutting off her reaction. "Could you get me some more ice?"

Her attention snaps to him. The concern for me vanishes. "Of course, darling."

She turns her back on me, her focus entirely on him, leaving me to run my burned hand under cold water, the pain a dull echo of the gaping wound in my soul.

That's it. That's the moment I know for certain. There's nothing left for me here. No hope of being seen, of being understood.

I am a ghost in my own home.

I go to my new, small room and pull out my suitcase. I pack methodically. A few changes of clothes. A worn paperback. The acceptance letter.

The house butler, a kind old man named Arthur who has been with Charlotte for decades, finds me by the door.

"Master Alex? Where are you going?" he asks, his face etched with worry.

"I'm leaving, Arthur," I say. "I'm going to school."

"But... does Ms. Mayo know?"

"It's better this way," I tell him, handing him a small, sealed envelope. "Please... just make sure she gets this. But not today. Maybe in a week."

He looks at the envelope, then back at me, his eyes sad. He knows. He' s seen it all.

"Take care of yourself, son," he says softly.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

I walk out the door without looking back. But I don't go to the airport. Not yet.

I take a taxi to the county courthouse.

The building is cold and impersonal. I walk up to the clerk's window.

"I need to file for an adult adoption," I say, my voice steady.

The clerk looks at me, then at the forms. She sees my name, Alex Melendez, and the name of the adopting parent, Charlotte Mayo. She sees the power of attorney document, signed by Charlotte years ago, giving me control over my educational and legal affairs once I turned eighteen. A document born of trust, now a weapon of severance.

"Are you sure about this, kid?" she asks, a hint of kindness in her voice.

I think of Charlotte's face, twisted in disgust. I think of Buster's body on the cold stone. I think of Howard's triumphant smile.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," I say.

I sign the papers. The pen feels heavy in my hand. I push the documents back to the clerk.

She stamps them. A hard, final sound.

It's done.

I am no longer Alex Melendez, the obsessive ward. I am Alex Mayo, her son. A title that erects an unbreakable wall between us, a final, painful gift that will force her to see me not as a suitor, but as family. A boundary she can understand.

It is the cruelest, kindest thing I have ever done.