Catherine and the private physician, Dr. Wallace Crane, kept insisting Eliza needed more rest, more “routine adjustments,” stronger medication. The pills left her dizzy, heavy, barely awake.
Noah was the only one she trusted enough to whisper: “I feel worse every week.”
And Noah did what no adult had done.
He listened.
One evening, after being chased away for “disturbing the patient,” Noah climbed a tree that overlooked the study window.
Inside, Catherine and Dr. Crane sat with wine glasses.
No shouting. No threats. But something deeply wrong.
Catherine complained that Eliza had been “too aware lately.” Dr. Crane assured her the updated treatment plan would keep her “calmer… easier to manage.” He mentioned increasing sedatives. She mentioned inheritance timelines.
They spoke of Eliza as a problem. Not a child. Noah’s heart raced.
He didn’t understand every word, but he understood enough. They weren’t healing her. They were weakening her.
The next morning, Eliza collapsed.
Catherine dismissed it as “another episode.” Dr. Crane administered a heavier dose. By nightfall, Eliza barely responded.