"You're Francis' brother and Elise is your niece by blood. Looks like she really trusts you."
That moment had melted something in me. From then on, I became her father—for ten whole years.
When she had a fever, I sat by her bed all night, clutching her hand and adjusting the cold compress every hour. When she was picky with food, I cooked meals shaped like flowers and stars, coaxing her to eat just a little more. When she cried after a fight at school, I held her hand and walked to her classmate's house, standing up for her like a real father would.
And each time, I told her, "Dad will always be on your side."
But in the end, all those memories led here—to this moment, where she stood screaming that I'd stolen her father's place, destroying my clothes with a blade in her hand.
Just then, Sara entered the room. Without sparing me a glance, she scooped Elise into her arms, pressing a palm to her back to calm her down.
She looked at me then, her voice bitter. "So all these years... you were just pretending, weren't you?"
Elise didn't wait for her to finish. She raised the eyebrow razor one last time and hurled it straight at me.
It hit my chest and clattered to the floor. It didn't hurt. But the look in her eyes—that raw hatred—cut far deeper than any blade. If she could've killed me in that moment, I have no doubt she would have.
The door slammed behind them.
Silence fell again. I stood there in the middle of the chaos—fabric scraps scattered like broken feathers—staring at the pile as if something vital had been ripped from me.
I didn't know how long I stood there before Emily, the housekeeper, entered, carrying a small laundry basket. She knelt down without a word and began quietly gathering the ruined clothes.
After a moment, she looked up at me. "Sir, Madam and Miss Elise have already eaten. Would you like to come down and have something?"
Her voice was calm, almost gentle. The simple concern in her eyes struck me harder than I expected. It had been so long since anyone in this house had spoken to me with even a shred of kindness.
I hesitated, then gave a small shake of my head. "No need. I'm not hungry."
Emily didn't press. She stood, but paused at the door. Her back to me, she hesitated again before finally speaking.
"Some kids..." Her voice was soft, but there was steel underneath. "Some kids are just born ungrateful. There's no point giving them your heart."