“This one?” he asked.
“This one,” I nodded.
Denis ran a hand along his jaw as he walked the room, peering into the closet before moving around the walls.
“This was an office?”
“Of sorts,” I replied, noticing June hadn’t moved.
“Do you want to wait outside?” I asked gently as her eyes darted frantically around the space.
June shook her head. Then nodded. Her fingers fastened and unfastened the same button on her jacket.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d find it so…”
“Don’t apologise.” I crossed the room and took her hands in mine. “I had a worse reaction the first time I even thought about coming up these stairs. You’re doing better than I did. Wait with Dax, if you want.”
“Are you sure? I feel so guilty. You wanted us to do this together, and I can’t even?—”
“I wanted you here because this place is where it all started. It’s where we became a family—for better or worse.” I squeezed her hand. “But you only need to be inside if it’ll do you some good. Otherwise, I’ve got this.”
And I did. I really did.
She took a shaky swig from her water bottle. I bet she really wished it were vodka now.
“Do it for us?” she asked, backing towards the stairs.
“For us. For Josh,” I nodded.
And for every Olivia Pratt who’d walked through these doors.
I was going to burn this fucker to the ground.
Once June was safely outside, I turned back to Denis. I blinked at the candle he was setting up on an overturned box near the curtains. Had he been carrying that thing in his pocket this whole time?
I’d expected something a bit more… dramatic. I don’t know—jerry-rigged wiring, exposed sockets, maybe a few sparks. A MacGyver moment.
Instead, he balled up some old computer paper scattered across the floor, giving the flame plenty of options to spread.
He handed me a box of long matches, and my bare arms prickled for the first time that night.
“Once you light it, you leave the room immediately,” he said. “We’ll monitor the burn from the doorway.”
As he spoke, two women and a man in turnout gear arrived in the corridor.
“You’ll then evacuate outside the gate. There’s someone stationed at the door to direct you.”
I dipped my head in response. Leader Denis was firm. Drinking led to regrettable emotional outbursts for me, rather than the clarity it seemed to afford Mr Gavellin. I was mildly jealous. I reached between my full chest again to gather a folded letter, and Denis looked down at his shoes, his cheeks colouring. The message on this letter was short and simple, unlike the one that had arrived when I was seven.
“To our beautiful granddaughter,” I read out loud as Denis’s gaze stayed focused on his shoes. I willed my brain to remember to ask him for his polishing tips later; they could come in handy for the café floors.
“We’ve followed everything we could about your life over the years, involving ourselves where we could. To our regret, it wasn’t much. However, if the accusations about Bellamy Children’s Home—where we know you were taken when Daisy passed—are to be believed, then it’s likely you’ve experienced something no child ever should. Especially not a grieving one. We’ll carry that regret for eternity. Please take this opportunity to close this chapter of your life however feels right for you. With our deepest love, Oma and Opa.”
I held the letter between my glossed lips, dragged a match across the box, and let the flame grow.
Denis waited in the corner as I crouched next to the candle and dropped the letter into the crumpled paper, lighting the wick.
A strange emptiness spread through me as I stood and walked from the room. The house creaked under my feet. It could have been something more. It could have been filled with love instead of fear. A safety net that so many children who came through these doors had never experienced.
