The glass over the photo had shattered. A jagged crack ran straight between our smiling faces.
"So where do I sleep?" I asked.
Orson pointed toward the ground floor.
"There's that empty room next to the housekeeper's quarters, isn't there? Clean it out and you're set."
"It's only temporary anyway. Once Willow recovers, you can move back."
That room had been meant for live-in staff. The light was terrible, so it had become a dumping ground for storage.
And now Orson was asking me—his wife, the lady of this house—to live in a storage closet. For a stranger.
Willow came padding down the stairs in my slippers.
"Orson, is Renata upset?"
"Maybe I should take that room instead…" She bit her lip, tears springing up on command. "Even though the System said if I don't sleep in the master bedroom tonight, it'll paralyze my legs…"
Orson immediately pulled her close, his voice thick with concern.
"Don't say that! As long as I'm here, no one's paralyzing anything."
He turned to me, his tone hardening.
"Renata, can you stop being so petty? Do you want to watch Willow become crippled?"
"It's just switching rooms for a few days. Why are you making such a fuss?"