Chapter 10 - The Letters from Crestview
Samuel’s first weeks were marked by the simple, ancient rituals of early life: the soft click of the rocking chair, the smell of warm milk, and the gentle creak of the cottage floorboards under Arthur’s socks as he paced the hall with his grandson tucked against his shoulder.
In April, the snow melted, revealing the dark, fertile earth beneath. With the spring came three registered letters from Crestview, each stamped with Victoria’s distinctive wax seal.
Julian took them from the mailbox at the end of the long driveway. He sat on the porch steps under the warm afternoon sun, the white envelopes resting on his knees.
Arthur came out with two glasses of iced tea, sitting beside him on the stone step. "You don't have to open them, Julian. Evelyn can archive them with the rest of the litigation records."
Julian turned the top envelope over. The elegant calligraphy of his name seemed less formidable now, like an artifact from an ancient, forgotten empire.
"I need to read them," Julian said quietly. "Just once. To be sure."
He slit open the first letter. It was full of the old vitriol: accusations of betrayal, threats of total disinheritance, and demands that Samuel be brought to Crestview for a formal family portrait to appease the board of trustees. The second letter was colder, outlining the revocation of his executive trust fund.
The third letter was written in a trembling hand, the ink slightly smeared. It was short.
Julian,
A mother cannot be replaced by legal decree. You will learn, when your son grows old enough to disappoint you, that blood is the only thing that endures. Until then, you are living a fantasy built on my sacrifices.
V.
Julian sat quietly for a long time, the spring breeze ruffling his hair. Then, without a word, he folded the papers back into their envelopes. He stood up, walked to the iron firepit in the center of the lawn, struck a match, and dropped the letters onto the kindling.
They caught fire immediately, the black ink curling into gray ash before drifting up into the blue sky.
May you like
"It's finished," Julian said, returning to the porch.
Arthur clapped a strong hand onto his son's shoulder. "No, Julian. It is just beginning."
