Too Late, Richard

For eight long years, I was trapped in Richard Blackwood's mansion, an agreement to care for his son, Ethan, after my sister Eleanor's death, but I called it a cage.

Just as my contract neared its end, Ethan accused me publicly at a glittering gala, screaming that I was trying to replace his mother.

Richard, ever the dismissive patriarch, instantly took his son's side, leaving me humiliated and isolated.

His cold indifference deepened when Ethan destroyed my sentimental belongings, culminating in the heart-wrenching death of my beloved dog, Buddy, at Ethan's hands, which Richard shrugged off as an accident.

He even tried to offer me the freedom from birth control as a 'favor' for my service, then brought in a younger Eleanor look-alike, Tiffany, to openly replace me.

How could they consistently strip away my dignity and dismiss my grief, only to then try and buy my loyalty back?

The pain was a constant throb, yet my resolve hardened with each calculated insult and dismissal.

My breaking point came when Ethan, echoing Tiffany's cruel words, shot me with a slingshot as I left, delivering a final, petty wound.

That moment snapped the last lingering thread of attachment; I dropped a silver charm at his feet, definitively severing our tie.

I picked up my bag, ignored Richard's threats, and walked out the door, knowing my true freedom, and a new life, awaited in Montana.

The music was too loud.

The lights were too bright.

Another Blackwood Foundation gala. Another night I had to pretend.

For eight years, I pretended.

Eight years since my sister, Eleanor, died. Eight years I'd lived in this house, Richard Blackwood's house.

An agreement. That's what Richard called it.

I called it a cage.

He needed a caretaker for his son, Ethan. A companion for himself, though he rarely spoke to me unless it was an order.

I was Eleanor's younger sister. That was my qualification.

Tonight, the agreement was almost over. One more week.

I wore a simple blue dress. My mother had sent it. She said it was elegant.

I felt like a fraud among the glittering crowd.

I saw Ethan across the room. He was ten now, no longer the small boy I'd first met. His eyes, so like Eleanor's, found mine.

They were cold.

He started walking towards me, a strange look on his face.

Then, he was at my feet. I stumbled.

My drink, a glass of water, went flying. It splashed onto Mrs. Vanderbilt's silk gown.

A gasp went through the nearby guests.

Ethan pointed at me. His voice, high and sharp, cut through the murmur.

"She's doing it on purpose! Look at her dress! She's trying to be my mother!"

He was crying now, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"She's always trying to replace Mommy!"

Heat rushed to my face. All eyes were on me. Whispers followed.

Richard appeared at my side. His face was a mask of polite apology to Mrs. Vanderbilt, then stone when he looked at me.

"Clean this up," he said, his voice low and sharp. He didn't even look at me.

He put an arm around Ethan, comforting him. "It's alright, son. She didn't mean it."

But his eyes, when they flicked to me, said I did.

Later, when the guests were thinning, I found Richard in his study.

He was staring at a large portrait of Eleanor. She looked beautiful, smiling, forever young.

"Richard," I said.

He didn't turn. "What is it, Sarah? More drama?"

My hands were steady. My voice was calm.

"My eight-year agreement ends next Tuesday. I will be leaving then."

He finally turned, an eyebrow raised.

"Leaving?" he said, as if the word was foreign. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous, Richard. The contract is fulfilled. I'm leaving."

He scoffed. "And go where? Back to that dirt farm in Montana?"

"Yes," I said. "Back home."

A flicker of something I couldn't name crossed his face. Annoyance? Disbelief?

"We'll discuss this later. Ethan is upset."

"There's nothing to discuss," I said. "I'm leaving."

The next few days were colder than usual in the Blackwood mansion.

Ethan avoided me, his hostility a silent, heavy blanket.

Richard was distant, preoccupied. He acted as if our conversation never happened.

I started packing my few belongings into a single duffel bag. Not much to show for eight years.

One afternoon, I heard a crash from Ethan's room.

I rushed in.

He stood over a small, shattered porcelain horse. It was a cheap thing I'd bought at a county fair years ago, a small piece of Montana I'd kept.

"What happened?" I asked, my voice tight.

Ethan glared at me. "This was Mommy's favorite. You shouldn't have it."

My heart ached. "Ethan, that wasn't your mother's. That was mine."

"Liar!" he screamed. "You're always trying to take her things!"

He kicked at the broken pieces.

Richard walked in then. He took in the scene. Ethan's tear-streaked face. The shattered horse. Me.

"What's this?" Richard's voice was tired.

"She broke Mommy's horse!" Ethan cried, running to his father.

Richard looked at me, his expression unreadable. "Sarah, you know how he feels about Eleanor's things."

He didn't even ask. He just assumed.

"It wasn't Eleanor's," I said quietly. "It was mine."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Just clean it up. And try to be more careful."

My dog, Buddy, was my only comfort. A scruffy terrier mix I'd brought with me from Montana. He was old now, but his tail still wagged when he saw me.

A few days later, Buddy didn't greet me at the door when I came in from a walk.

I found him in the garden.

He was lying still. Too still.

Ethan stood nearby, holding a new, expensive-looking pellet gun. His face was pale.

"I... I didn't mean to," he stammered. "He ran out... I was aiming at a can."

Tears streamed down my face. I knelt beside Buddy, my Buddy.

Richard came out. He saw me, saw Ethan, saw Buddy.

His face hardened.

"Ethan, go inside," he said, his voice tight.

When Ethan was gone, Richard looked at me. There was no sympathy in his eyes.

"It was an accident, Sarah."

"He killed my dog, Richard." My voice was choked.

"Ethan is distraught. He loved that dog too, in his own way."

I stared at him, disbelief warring with a cold, familiar ache.

"Your duties are to Ethan. See to him. He's very upset."

He turned and walked back into the house, leaving me alone with my grief.

The world felt empty.