Chapter 347

Theodore arrived just in time to witness the scene. He hurried over, first helping Penelope to her feet with a quiet “I’m sorry,” before turning to his mother.
“You’ve already been here once this week.”
“But I missed Lorraine, and she missed me.”
“Mom
“Please, Theodore? I’m begging you.”
He sighed, a deep, weary sound. “You don’t have to beg. Just tell me when you’re coming, and I’ll come with you.”
“You’re the best, Theo. I’ll listen, I promise.”
Once on her feet, Mrs. Stapleton beamed and headed for the kitchen. Theodore watched her go, his expression a mixture of profound helplessness and pain.
Penelope walked over and took his hand. “Has she been like this for all twenty years?”
“It was like this for the first couple of years. Then, with treatment, she got much better. She would only have occasional episodes. But over the last year, her condition has deteriorated rapidly.”
“Did something happen this past year?”
“I don’t know. She won’t talk about it.”
It was clear Mrs. Stapleton didn’t know how to cook. A spoon clattered to the floor, then oil in a pan caught fire. The moment she picked up a kitchen knife, Theodore rushed in. He managed to calm her down, but she began to cry, and in the end, he had no choice but to help her prepare the meal.
They brought the food out to the living room, Mrs. Stapleton set a place for the Al Lorraine, completez witha fork and plate, as if the
on the screen were livingage
breathing child. She happily served food onto Lorraine’s plate, explaining which dishes she had made and which ones her brother had. She asked how it tasted, if she liked it.
The Al, being an Al, gave robotic, soulless answers, sometimes completely nonsensical. But Mrs. Stapleton didn’t seem to notice, smiling as if everything were normal. She even served Theodore pushing food to his lips when he didn’t eat. He couldn’t refuse and picked up his fork, eating mechanically, like an automaton.
Penelope stood frozen by the doorway, a chill creeping over her as she watched the grotesque scene. It was a macabre performance, the actors not living people but tormented puppets, devoid of emotion, their strings pulled by a demon of grief. This wasn’t a home; it was a mausoleum for the living.
Her heart ached for Theodore. She strode across the room, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to his feet. Ignoring his protests, she dragged him out of the house, gave a quick instruction to the housekeeper, and pushed him into the car, driving them away as if escaping from a haunted place.
As the car left the estate and merged with the river of traffic, surrounded by the warm glow of a million city lights, it felt as if life and warmth were finally seeping back into their veins.
She turned to Theodore, her smile radiant. “Where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere.”
Her smile was infectious, and a touch of warmth finally returned to his face. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on ⓝovelFind.net
“I want to go to your turf.”
Penelope thought for a moment. “Alright, then. I’ll take you to my secret spot.”
Her secret spot was a park on the edge of the old city, home to a massive, ancient oak tree. She scrambled up first, then beckoned to him from between the branches. “Hurry up, before someone sees us.”
Urged on by Penelope, Theodore glanced around nervously before climbing up after her. The oak had two thick, sprawling branches. Penelope lay back on one, gesturing for Theodore to take the other.
“Look,” she whispered.
As they lay there, she pointed up at the sky. It was a clear, late autumn night. A crescent moon hung like a silver sickle in a vast sea of stars.
श
The ai was cool but not cold, and a deep breath felt like it cleansed every cell in their bodies. They were utterly alone, the city lights a distant glow, the noise faded to nothing. It was as if they had entered another world.