“Dad, please don’t tell Flick I had an allergic reaction, and don’t blame her either. It’s all Mom’s fault for never letting me have milk. If I’d had more milk, maybe ! wouldn’t be allergic now.”
The child’s earnest voice hung in the air, but Harrison didn’t answer. The doctor, had assured him that Dames was stable, so Harrison turned and left the room.-
Whenever Dames had the slightest fever or headache, it was always Selene who cared for him. Even now, with Selene gone, the Vaughn family had their own private physician–Dames‘ illnesses would be treated without trouble.
Harrison let himself relax as he returned to his bedroom.
Ever since Selene became pregnant, they had slept in separate rooms. Now, there was not a single trace of her presence in his space.
For Harrison and Dames, Selene had always been almost invisible–a convenience, not a necessity.
Morning.
Dawn’s first light crept in as Harrison surfaced from sleep. His arm shot out automatically–then froze. The nightstand was barren. No condensation rings. No glass. Just the phantom weight of absence where his ritual should have been.
Selene always woke earlier than he did. She would leave a glass of warm salted water for him every morning.
The absence left Harrison irritable. As he stepped into the hallway, he heard a commotion from the children’s room.
Dames never woke up in a good mood; it always took Selene ages to coax him out
of bed.
Nadine finally managed to herd Dames into the bathroom.
Standing on a wooden stool at the sink, Dames picked up his toothbrush and turned to Nadine with a frown. “Why didn’t you put toothpaste on for me?”
He grabbed his cup, scowling deeper. “There’s no water in my cup either!”
“I’m sorry, young master!” Nadine hurried to squeeze toothpaste onto his brush and fill his cup with water.
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“This isn’t my toothpaste!” Dames protested, his voice rising in indignation.
He liked the gel kind–the sparkly blue one.
“I’m sorry,” Nadine apologized, feeling overwhelmed. “Usually your mom takes care of all this.”
At breakfast, Harrison glanced at the bland offerings and gave a casual order. “Make some Scotch eggs.”
“Huh?” Nadine stared blankly.
“I want Scotch eggs too,” Dames chimed in.
Nadine, sweating, pulled out her phone. “I’ll call Mrs. Vaughn and ask how to make those eggs.”
Early that morning, Selene was jolted awake by the shrill ring of her phone.
She could have sworn she’d turned off her 5 a.m. alarm.
Still half–asleep, she answered.
“Ma’am, Mr. Vaughn and the young master want those, um, Scotch eggs? I don’t
know how to make them.”
Selene rubbed her tired eyes. “I’ll send you the recipe.”
Nadine quickly scanned the instructions Selene sent.
She fell silent.
Scotch eggs required boiling the eggs first, then carefully peeling them. Next, the eggs had to be wrapped in seasoned ground chicken, rolled in breadcrumbs, and finally deep–fried until golden brown.
Selene’s notes were precise: Harrison liked his eggs with soft yolks–boil for five minutes, then fry gently for three. Dames preferred his hard–boiled–eight minutes, then fry for four.
Nadine gulped and asked, “Ma’am, when are you coming back?” This was far too much work for a breakfast dish–better to wait for Selene to return.
“I’m not coming back,” Selene replied quietly.
“What?” Nadine was stunned. Selene’s voice, calm and unhurried, came through the phone:
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“From now on, whatever happens in the Vaughn house, don’t call me. I’ll send you all my household notes.”
“No, please-!”
But Selene hung up before Nadine could finish.
Selene glanced at the time on her phone, rolled over, wrapped her arms around her daughter, and fell back asleep.
Nadine trudged back to the dining room, wringing her hands, her face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, sir. The Scotch eggs are just too complicated–I can’t manage them.”
“Did you get hold of her?” Harrison’s voice was cold and distant.
“Yes, she sent me the instructions, but…”
“Did she say when she’s coming back?”
