She couldn't wait to talk to him and offer her support.
As Wilson navigated the winding roads, Lucy's eyes remained fixed on her phone, her fingers trembling as she dialed Canary's number again. But just like before, it rang several times before going straight to voicemail.
Lucy's face contorted in anguish, and she let out a sob. She felt a crushing weight of guilt, knowing that her decision had hurt her son so deeply. She buried her face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks as she wept uncontrollably.
Wilson glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his expression sympathetic. "Ma'am, is everything okay?" he asked softly.
But Lucy just shook her head, unable to speak through her tears. She felt like she had failed her son, and the pain of that realization was almost too much to bear.
As Lucy stepped out of the car, she was greeted by the warm smile of Ketra, the old housekeeper. Ketra's eyes, however, betrayed a hint of concern and curiosity. Lucy fell into Ketra's open arms, embracing her tightly as tears continued to stream down her face.
Ketra led Lucy to the living room, where they sat down on the plush couch. Ketra's expression turned serious, and she asked, her voice laced with a gentle reprimand, "Lucy, why did you do that to your son? Why did you vote for Joel instead of Canary?"
Lucy sniffled, wiping her nose with a tissue. She hesitated, unsure of how to explain her actions. Ketra's eyes, filled with kindness and understanding, encouraged Lucy to open up.
"I was afraid, Ketra," Lucy began, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Joel threatened me, and I didn't know what to do."
Ketra's face softened with understanding. "Oh, my poor girl," she murmured, patting Lucy's arm.
"He knows how to twist the knife, that one. Don't you fret. Canary's a good boy. He has your heart."
She offered a reassuring smile.
"He'll be hurt, yes, but he'll come around. Given time and the truth, he'll understand. A son will eventually see the sacrifices a mother makes. Just give him space. When the time's right, you tell him. Canary will forgive you, Lucy."
____
Later that evening, the silence of the Anderson mansion pressed in on Lucy, amplifying her guilt. She found herself drawn, almost unconsciously, to the wing that housed her late husband, Alexander's, former office.
The heavy oak door, usually kept closed, yielded with a soft click, and she stepped into the room that still smelled faintly of his pipe tobacco and old paper.
Moonlight, cold and indifferent, streamed through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
His mahogany desk, meticulously kept even after all these days seemed to beckon her.
Lucy walked to it, her movements slow and heavy, and sank into the familiar leather of Alexander's chair.
It still felt like him, encompassing and solid, but it offered no comfort tonight.
Her gaze fell on the framed photograph on the corner of the desk: Alexander, smiling broadly, his arm around a much younger, carefree Canary.
A sharp, fresh wave of pain coursed through her. She reached for the photo, her fingers tracing the outline of her son's youthful face.
"Oh, Alex," she whispered, her voice cracking.
The first tear escaped, hot and relentless, tracing a path down her cheek. Soon, the whispers turned into choked sobs, deep and guttural, tearing from her chest.
"I'm so sorry. I promised you, didn't I? I promised I'd protect him. Our son."
She clutched the photograph to her chest, rocking slightly in the chair, the sobs now shaking her entire body.
"I let Joel win, Alex. I let him hurt Canary. I didn't protect him. I couldn't." The words were ragged, torn by guilt and despair, a desperate plea for forgiveness from a man who could no longer offer it.
"Forgive me, my love. Forgive me for failing our son."
____
Lucy's sobs continued, a raw, painful soundtrack to her grief. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, drifted across Alexander's desk, blurring over the familiar objects, until they snagged on the dark, unresponsive screen of the computer. It was Alexander's old work computer, a relic she hadn't touched since his death. An inexplicable urge, a faint whisper of curiosity, pulled her towards it.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, the familiar Anderson Group logo appearing, then the desktop. To her surprise, the last opened application wasn't a spreadsheet or a report, but a CCTV monitoring program. Alexander, ever the meticulous CEO, had always kept an eye on things, even the mundane movements within the building.
A new wave of grief, tinged with nostalgia, washed over her as she scrolled through the archived footage. The thought of Alexander, so vivid in her mind, prompted her to rewind the feeds. She drifted further and further back in time, past board meetings, past late-night work sessions, searching for simpler, happier moments. A soft, sad smile touched her lips as she saw him again – laughing with a colleague, sharing a quiet moment with her in the hallway, or holding a young, giggling Canary in his arms. She watched them, a phantom ache in her heart, letting the memories wash over her.
She took her time, losing herself in the past, until the date on the screen rolled back to the day of Alexander's death. Her breath hitched, but a morbid fascination, a need to simply be with him, even in that final, tragic moment, compelled her to continue.
The footage flickered, showing the hallway outside Alexander's office. And then, there he was, Alexander in his wheelchair, near the top of the grand staircase, his back to the camera. But he wasn't alone. Standing before him, his back to the camera as well, was a figure Lucy knew intimately.
Joel.
Lucy froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. She watched, her eyes wide with a dawning horror, as Joel gestured, seemingly talking to Alexander. Then, with a sudden, forceful movement, Joel's hands came up. He shoved Alexander's wheelchair. Hard.
The image blurred as the chair, with Alexander in it, tipped forward, tumbling over the edge of the stairs. The screen showed only empty space where they had been, followed by a sickening thud that seemed to echo from the past, through the computer speakers, and into the silent office.
Lucy's mouth fell open, a silent scream caught in her throat. No. It couldn't be. Her brother. Her younger brother. She frantically rewound the footage just a few seconds, her fingers clumsy on the mouse. She watched it again, every agonizing detail. Joel, his face grim even from the back, the decisive push, the sickening fall.
It was real. Joel had killed Alexander. Her own brother had murdered her husband. The truth, brutal and undeniable, crashed down on her, eclipsing every other pain, every other betrayal.