Chapter 503
[ 496 words ]
Chapter 503:
“Agnes, no,” Caroline said, walking over and gently but firmly taking the peeler from the older woman’s hand. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Go sit.” She pointed to a tall stool tucked into the corner of the massive kitchen island.
Agnes started to protest. “But Mrs. Romero, it is my duty…”
“Your duty is to not make me feel guilty,” Caroline insisted, her smile warm but unyielding. “Please. Sit. Talk to me while I cook.”
The housekeeper hesitated for a moment, then a slow, genuine smile spread across her face. She wiped her hands on her apron and walked over to the stool, settling onto it with a grateful sigh. She had never, in thirty years of service in this house, been invited to simply sit in the kitchen. But as she settled onto the stool, her thoughts drifted back over the past days: the way the General’s voice softened when he spoke of Caroline, the way Caroline had quietly washed her own dishes without a hint of entitlement, the fierce and immediate way the General had defended her against Harper and Cornelia at lunch. She had watched this girl walk into a house full of shadows and begin, almost by accident, to light candles. And the General, that old soldier who had been grieving in silence for decades, was blooming under her attention. If there was ever going to be a moment to share the truth, to give this young woman the knowledge she would need to survive this family, it was now. Before Cornelia struck back. Before the past repeated itself.
𝗗o𝗐𝗇𝗹𝗼а𝘥 PD𝗙𝘀 𝗳𝘳𝖾𝖾 о𝗇 𝗀а𝗅n𝘰𝘷е𝗅𝗌.𝗰о𝘮
“Alright then… Caroline,” she said, testing the name out. It felt right.
“That’s better,” Caroline approved, turning back to the stove. “This is my therapy. After my parents died, I had to learn to cook for myself. I found out I was pretty good at it.” She said it casually, a simple statement of fact as she stirred the fragrant mixture in the pot.
Agnes watched her, the easy competence of her movements, the way she seemed to belong in this kitchen. “Colonel Romero is a lucky man,” she said, her voice soft but sincere. “That cold, hard soldier. He doesn’t deserve a wife as good as you.”
Caroline’s hand stilled. A faint blush crept up her neck. She turned from the stove, a fierce loyalty in her eyes. “He’s not cold,” she corrected gently. “Not really. He just doesn’t know how to show the warmth that’s inside him. But it’s there. He’s the kindest man I’ve ever known.”
Agnes’s expression softened. She reached out and patted Caroline’s hand. “I can see it,” she agreed. “I have seen the way he looks at you. It is the only time I have ever seen true warmth in those eyes.”
The moment felt safe, intimate. Caroline decided to take a chance. She turned back to the pot, stirring the thickening stew. “Agnes,” she began, her tone carefully casual, “why is Jarrod’s relationship with his father so… terrible?”
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