Chapter 24 - The House Without Cameras
Victor removed the bedroom camera.
Not merely disabled it.
Removed it.
Ethan watched the technician unscrew the device from the wall.
“You know there’s going to be a weird hole.”
“I’ll have it repaired.”
“I kind of want the hole.”
Victor frowned.
“Why?”
“A monument.”
“To what?”
“You finally learning boundaries.”
Victor looked at Maya.
“Do not encourage him.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
Ethan smiled.
The security system remained extensive elsewhere.
Threats still existed.
But Ethan’s bedroom became private.
His room.
Not a monitored recovery space.
Victor realized he had kept the camera long after medical necessity ended.
Fear had disguised itself as security.
After the technician left, Ethan placed the old family photograph where the monitor used to be.
Victor noticed.
“Good choice.”
“It covers the hole.”
Victor sighed.
“Of course.”
Maya opened the textbook.
“Fractions.”
Ethan groaned.
“Can we investigate another international fraud ring instead?”
“No.”
Victor paused in the doorway.
“That sentence should never sound normal.”
Life settled into an unfamiliar rhythm.
Daniel moved back to Chicago under reduced protection.
He and Maya rebuilt their relationship slowly.
She did not forgive the lost years in a single embrace.
He did not expect her to.
They ate dinner.
Argued.
Stopped speaking for two days.
Started again.
Real repair.
Victor invited Daniel to the estate.
Ethan challenged him to chess.
Daniel won.
Ethan stared at the board in disbelief.
“You’re cheating.”
Daniel smiled.
“My sister warned me about your ego.”
Maya pointed.
“Finally.”
Victor watched his son lose.
Ethan hated it.
For five minutes.
Then demanded a rematch.
Victor smiled.
Confidence did not mean always winning.
It meant losing without believing the loss defined you.
That lesson had taken Victor fifty years less twelve.
One Sunday, Victor opened Simone’s closet for the first time since her death.
Maya found him sitting on the floor among garment bags.
“You okay?”
“No.”
She leaned against the doorframe.
“Want company?”
Victor nodded.
She sat several feet away.
Victor held Simone’s navy raincoat.
“The one from Daniel’s photograph.”
“Yes.”
He ran his hand over the fabric.
“I kept everything.”
Maya looked around.
“I see.”
“I told myself Ethan might want it someday.”
“Does he?”
“I never asked.”
Maya smiled faintly.
“There’s a theme.”
Victor laughed sadly.
He carried several boxes to Ethan.
“Your mother’s things.”
Ethan stared.
“What about them?”
“I kept everything.”
“Everything?”
“Nearly.”
“That’s creepy.”
Victor laughed.
“I’m learning that.”
Ethan opened one box.
Scarves.
Jewelry.
Books.
He found Simone’s law-school sweatshirt.
“Can I have this?”
“Yes.”
Ethan draped it across his lap.
Victor watched carefully.
“You don’t have to keep anything because it was hers.”
“I know.”
“You can throw things away.”
“I know.”
“Or donate—”
“Dad.”
Victor stopped.
Ethan smiled.
“I know.”
They chose together.
Some things stayed.
Some went to Simone’s sister.
Some to charity.
Grief became less like a museum.
That evening, Ethan placed one of Simone’s books on Maya’s desk.
“You can have this.”
Maya looked at the legal biography.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“She wrote notes in the margins.”
Maya opened it.
Simone’s handwriting filled the pages.
Sharp.
Funny.
Argumentative.
Maya smiled.
“I would have liked her.”
Ethan nodded.
“She would have liked you.”
Victor stood in the hallway.
Something strange moved through him.
Not jealousy.
Not sadness.
Relief.
Simone’s place in their family did not shrink because new people mattered.
Love was not a room with limited chairs.
Maya noticed him.
“Were you spying?”
Victor pointed toward the empty camera mount.
“I have reformed.”
Ethan called, “Mostly.”
They laughed.
Victor’s phone buzzed.
A news alert.
THEODORE BLACKWELL SENTENCING DATE SET.
Victor looked at it.
Then locked the phone.
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He returned to the room.
For once, the future mattered more than the alert.
