On the way home, he stopped at a toy store and bought a doll, imagining Lily’s smile.
The estate stood silent when he returned. No television. No voices.
Upstairs, he heard it.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Rhythmic. Precise.
The sound came from the “focus room,” where Vanessa claimed she guided Lily’s development. As he approached, he heard his wife’s voice—cold, mechanical.
“Keep your posture. If the book drops, the timer resets.”
“Mommy… it hurts… I’m thirsty…” Lily whimpered.
“Pain builds strength. Your biological mother was weak. That’s why she died. Do you want Daddy ashamed of you? Endure it.”
Michael’s blood froze.
He pushed the door open.
The pastel room had become a training chamber. Lily stood on one foot atop a small stool, the other leg lifted, arms straining to hold a heavy dictionary overhead. Sweat soaked her clothes. Her thin ribs showed through the fabric.
Vanessa reclined on a sofa, calmly watching a stopwatch.
“Mommy, I’m going to fall—”
“Ten more minutes. If you fall, we start over.”
“Enough!” Michael roared.
Startled, Lily lost balance and crashed to the floor. The book landed beside her.
He rushed forward. “Lily, sweetheart—”