Preston swallowed two sleeping pills and fell unconscious in his suite. Tessa retired to her adjoining room and scrolled through travel websites on her phone, already planning honeymoons and cruises. The mansion sank into quiet again.
Bernice waited until the creaks of the floorboards settled and the downstairs grandfather clock chimed half past two. She tucked a small flashlight into her apron and slipped the master key from her pocket. As the household manager, she was permitted access to every room. She approached Milo’s door and paused, listening. The muffled sound of choked sobbing seeped from the other side.
She unlocked the door slowly. The hinges groaned. She stepped inside. Milo sat huddled at the foot of the bed, knees pulled to his chest. His face was tearstained and blotchy from crying. He flinched when the light caught him, but relaxed a fraction when he saw who it was.
“Bernice,” he whispered. His voice trembled like a candle flame in a storm. “It hurts. The bed hurts me. It bites.”