Chapter 3: The Voice I Ignored
I stayed awake that night sitting beside Livia’s bed.
The house was silent, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying everything.
The clippers.
The curls on the floor.
My son’s frightened voice calling my name.
And Clara’s words.
There’s a reason Livia stopped wanting to be alone with your fiancée.
I had spent months believing I was protecting my son by building him a new family.
But what if I had been doing the opposite?
Livia was sleeping with his favorite stuffed animal tucked under his arm. Every few minutes, his little fingers moved like he was searching for something even in his dreams.
For his mother.
For me.
For safety.
I gently brushed his curls away from his forehead.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The words barely left my mouth.
But I meant them.
The next morning, I found Clara waiting outside a small coffee shop near my office.
She looked nervous.
Clara had worked as a housekeeper for my family before Bianca suggested replacing the household staff with people she personally knew.
At the time, I thought Bianca was simply trying to make the house feel more organized.
Now, every memory felt different.
Clara stood when she saw me.
“Mr. Alessandro.””
“Please. Call me Alessandro.””
She nodded.
“I wish I had called you sooner.””
I sat across from her.
“Then tell me everything.””
Clara looked down at her hands.
“I didn’t want to interfere with your relationship.””
“My relationship doesn’t matter anymore.””
She swallowed.
“It started a few months ago.””
My expression hardened.
“What started?””
“Livia changing.””
I listened.
Every word.
“Before Bianca moved into the house, he was always happy. He would run around, ask questions, laugh all the time.””
Clara paused.
“Then Bianca started spending more time with him alone.””
I leaned forward.
“What happened during that time?””
“She was strict with him.””
“Strict how?””
Clara hesitated.
“She didn’t like him making messes. She didn’t like him crying. She said he needed discipline before the wedding.””
My hands tightened.
A three-year-old child.
Discipline.
That was the word people used when they wanted to make something cruel sound acceptable.
“What did she do?””
Clara looked toward the window.
“She would make him sit alone when he cried.””
My chest tightened.
“Alone where?””
“In his room.””
“That’s not unusual.””
Clara shook her head.
“Not like that.””
I stayed silent.
“She would close the door and tell him nobody wanted to hear him being difficult.””
The room felt colder.
I remembered the nights Livia had suddenly started asking me to stay until he fell asleep.
I remembered him holding my hand tighter whenever Bianca left the room.
I remembered telling him, “You’re okay. Bianca loves you.””
I had said those words because I wanted them to be true.
Not because I knew they were.
“Why didn’t he tell me?””
Clara’s eyes softened.
“Because he’s three.””
That answer hurt more than anything.
Children didn’t always have the words to explain fear.
Sometimes they only had behavior.
A quiet voice.
A step backward.
A hand reaching for their parent.
And I had missed it.
“Why did you leave?”” I asked.
Clara looked uncomfortable.
“Because Bianca found out I was asking Livia questions.””
“What questions?””
“If he was okay.””
My jaw tightened.
“And?””
“She told me I was crossing boundaries.””
I looked at her.
“Did she threaten you?””
Clara looked away.
“She didn’t need to.””
The silence between us said enough.
After the meeting, I drove home immediately.
I found Bianca in the living room.
She was packing.
Not crying.
Not apologizing.
Packing.
“You’re leaving?”” I asked.
She turned around.
“I’m giving you space.””
I looked at the suitcase.
“You mean you’re avoiding the conversation.””
Her eyes narrowed.
“You already decided I’m the villain.””
“I watched my son beg me for help.””
“And you’re believing a former employee over your future wife?””
I stared at her.
“My son’s fear is not an opinion.””
For the first time, Bianca looked angry.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.””
“Then explain it.””
She said nothing.
“Explain why he flinches when you come near him.””
Silence.
“Explain why he stopped asking for you.””
More silence.
Then Bianca’s expression changed.
“You really want the truth?””
I nodded.
She stepped closer.
“You don’t know everything about Livia.””
My heart sank.
“What does that mean?””
She looked toward the stairs.
“Ask yourself why a child that young never talks about his mother.””
The words hit me.
Because that was something I had always avoided.
After my wife died, I protected Livia from painful memories.
I didn’t want him confused.
I didn’t want him hurting.
But Bianca knew that.
And she was using it.
“What are you trying to say?””
Before she answered, the sound of footsteps came from the hallway.
Livia stood there holding his stuffed animal.
His eyes moved between us.
Then he looked at Bianca.
And whispered something I never expected to hear.
“Daddy…”
He pointed toward her.
“Don’t let her take my mommy’s box.””
My entire body went still.
Because I knew exactly what box he meant.
The one I thought was locked away safely.
The one containing the last memories of his mother.
May you like
And Bianca’s face told me one thing.
She knew about it.
