Chapter 2 - THE FROZEN NURSERY
By three o'clock that afternoon, the Connecticut mansion smelled not of lemon polish and sterile disinfectant, but of warm, melted cocoa and vanilla.
The cake had turned out remarkably flat and slightly burned around the edges, but to Ethan, who sat at the kitchen island eating a slice with a plastic fork alongside Sofia, it tasted like a long-lost memory.
Maria worked quietly around them, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher. The atmosphere in the house had shifted dramatically. The heavy, suffocating silence that usually inhabited the high-ceilinged rooms seemed to have evaporated, replaced by the soft chatter of a child explaining why blue sprinkles tasted better than red ones.
"Mr. Cole," Maria said gently, holding a damp cloth. "I really must apologize again for Sofia wandering around. I usually keep her strictly in the laundry room—"
"Don't," Ethan interrupted, setting his fork down. "Don't apologize, Maria. And don't hide her in the laundry room ever again. If she needs to come with you to work, she’s welcome in the house."
Maria blinked, caught off guard by his generosity. "Are you sure, sir? I know how much you value your peace and privacy."
"My privacy was just an excuse to hide," Ethan said honestly, looking down at his hands. He looked over at Sofia, who was now sitting on the floor, intently coloring a picture of a cat on a pad of paper Maria had given her. "I've spent three years hiding in this house, Maria. I thought if I kept everything quiet and unchanged, I could pretend the pain wasn't real."
Maria paused, her expression softening with deep maternal empathy. "Grief is a heavy house to live in alone, Mr. Cole. I lost my husband, Carlos, four years ago in a construction accident. When he died, I thought the sun would never come up again. But then I looked at Sofia... and I realized the world keeps moving, whether we want it to or not. The people we lose don't want us to stay in the dark."
Ethan digested her words in silence. He looked toward the grand staircase in the foyer.
Upstairs, at the end of the east hallway, was a door he had locked on October 14th three years ago. The key sat in the top drawer of his nightstand. Inside that room was a painted mural of woodland animals, a pile of unopened baby clothes, and a crib still sealed inside its cardboard box.
"Maria," Ethan said suddenly, standing up. "Are you busy for the next hour?"
"No, Mr. Cole. I was just finishing up the floor."
"Come upstairs with me," Ethan said, his voice tight with a sudden, surging resolve. "There's something I need to do. And I think... I think I need help."
Ten minutes later, Ethan stood in the dim upstairs hallway outside the door to the nursery. Maria stood a few paces behind him, holding Sofia’s hand.
Ethan’s hand trembled as he inserted the brass key into the lock. The lock turned with a heavy, metallic click that echoed down the quiet corridor.
He pushed the door open.
A stale, dusty air rushed out to meet them. The room was frozen in time. Sunbeams filtered through the half-closed wooden blinds, illuminating dancing dust motes above the unopened crib box. The walls were painted a soft sage green, decorated with half-painted trees and little foxes that Rachel had worked on during her second trimester.
Maria gasped softly, covering her mouth as she realized what the room was.
Ethan stepped into the space, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Every instinct shouted at him to run, to lock the door and retreat to his office in Manhattan. But then he felt a small, warm hand slip into his left palm.
He looked down. Sofia had followed him inside. She was looking at the woodland mural with wide, curious eyes.
"Look, Mr. Cole," Sofia whispered, pointing at the wall. "The little bear is hiding behind the tree."
Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat and dropped to one knee beside her. "Yes... his name is Barnaby. My wife painted him."
"It's pretty," Sofia said simply. She walked over to the large cardboard box containing the crib and patted the top of it. "What’s in the big box?"
"It’s a bed," Ethan said, his voice cracking. "A bed for a baby."
Ethan looked up at Maria, his eyes raw with emotion. "I couldn't assemble it, Maria. We were supposed to build it together on the Sunday after the accident. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away, but I couldn't look at it either."
Maria walked into the room, setting her hand gently on Ethan’s shoulder. "Then let's build it today, Mr. Cole. Not for the past... but so this room isn't a tomb anymore."
May you like
Ethan looked at the box, then at Maria, and finally at Sofia, who was now trying to peel the tape off the cardboard box with her tiny fingers.
"Okay," Ethan said, wiping a tear from his eye. "Let's build it."
