— Do you think I waste my time on people I see no value in? — She spoke quietly, but every word carried weight. — I’m not doing you a favor. A favor is tossing a coin into a beggar’s cup. I’m giving you a chance. A chance to be who you are again—a strong man, a provider for your daughter.
Mike was silent, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
— I need a reliable man on that site, — she continued. — And Alice needs a father who doesn’t have to look away in shame. This is a transaction, Mike. You earn every penny, and I get an employee who won’t betray me.
The man looked at her for a long time. In his soul, the remnants of his shattered pride battled with a new, timid hope. Finally, he let out a heavy breath.
— Okay. I… I’ll do everything I can to make sure you don’t regret this.
— I know. — Eleanor gave a faint smile. — Now go to your daughter. She needs to know her dad is back in the game.
When the door closed behind him, Eleanor sank weakly into her chair. Her head throbbed with a sharp flash of pain. She closed her eyes, listening to the footsteps fade in the house. She had done it. She had given him solid ground to stand on. Now she just had to finish building that foundation before her own time ran out.
The world around Eleanor Vance began to slowly fray at the edges. It was like an old film reel that had suddenly developed spots and started to melt from the heat. Mornings no longer brought energy, but a heavy, viscous fog that filled her head like wet cotton.
She stood in her bedroom before a huge mirror in a gilded frame. A stranger looked back at her. Her smooth, impeccably cared-for skin had taken on a strange, almost ashen hue, and a primal, animal fear lurked in the depths of her gray-blue eyes. Eleanor tried to bring lipstick to her lips, but her hand suddenly jerked. The thin stick drew an uneven red line across her cheek, like a fresh scar. Eleanor froze. She stared at the red mark and felt the floor beneath her begin to tilt slowly to the right. She gripped the edge of her vanity so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
— Not now, — she whispered, closing her eyes. — Please, not now.
Downstairs, in the foyer, she could already hear voices. Alice was arguing cheerfully with Susan about something, and Mike, from the sound of it, was hammering a nail somewhere in the garden. The life she had so painstakingly warmed back into existence in her home was bustling, unaware that its very foundation was beginning to crumble. Eleanor carefully wiped her face, applied a thicker layer of makeup, and put on sunglasses, even though it was a dreary December day outside.
Descending to the dining room, she moved slowly, carefully placing each step as if walking on thin ice. Mike came in from outside. He smelled of cold, pine, and honest physical labor. He looked different: his shoulders were straight, and his movements had regained their former confidence. Seeing Eleanor, he stopped.
— Good morning, Eleanor. I sketched out a little house for Luna in the garden, want to take a look?
Eleanor tried to focus her gaze on Mike. But his face was doubling, blurring into two dark spots. She felt a wave of suffocating nausea rise in her throat.
— Later, Mike. I have… a lot to do at the office.
She reached for a coffee cup, but her fingers missed the handle. The cup clinked, nearly tipping over. Mike took a step forward, his eyes narrowing. He was a builder, accustomed to spotting cracks in a structure long before it collapsed.
— Eleanor… — She didn’t answer, trying to quell the small, irritating tremor in her knees. — Your hands are shaking, — he said quietly, moving closer. — And you’re… you’re as pale as a sheet. What’s going on?
— Just tired, Mike. End of the year, reports… — she tried to walk past him but swayed.
Mike caught her by the elbow. His grip was firm and warm. For a moment, Eleanor wanted to lean against his sturdy shoulder and just scream from the terror tearing her apart inside. But she was Eleanor Vance. She didn’t know how to be weak.
— You’re not well. — Mike looked into her face, trying to catch her gaze behind the dark lenses of her glasses.
Alice ran into the dining room, chasing the silver kitten.
— Dad! Eleanor, look, he learned how to jump on the sofa!
Luna, striding proudly behind, leaped onto an armchair and watched her owner intently. The cat wasn’t purring. She sat motionless, her amber eyes glowing with a strange, knowing light. Animals always sense trouble before people do.
Eleanor slowly pulled away from Mike. She forced a smile—that same bitter, strained smile that only she understood.
— For now, yes, — she answered.
Mike frowned.
— What ‘for now, yes’? Are you okay?
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