Chapter 3: Names and Shadows

A woman from the west wing once told me my mom was the lamp-keeper for the main hall.

That old housekeeper loved to gossip while polishing the brass. She’d say Mom kept the lights burning bright for big dinners. I used to picture her, keys jangling, climbing up to shine every lamp.

The First Lady was sick, so Dad just picked a maid from the main hall to spend the night.

It was one of those stories staff whispered behind closed doors. The First Lady was always sickly, and Dad, bored and powerful, picked a girl to keep him company. Nobody thought twice about what it meant for the maid, but the consequences stuck around for years.

My mom, chosen like that, was crushed. She had one year left before she could leave, and her fiancé was a security guard on the estate.

She had dreams, plans beyond the mansion gates. Her fiancé wore a cheap blue uniform and always waited by the entrance. They’d promised each other forever—like a story from a paperback.

They were devoted, no secrets, planning to marry as soon as she left.

Every week, she’d sneak out to the old willow tree to meet him, out of sight of the cameras. She wore a locket with his faded picture inside.

She begged Dad to let her go, but he got angrier, forced himself on her, then kept her on as a housekeeper and sent her to the cold, lonely east wing.

No one listened to her. The story always ended with Mom cast out, clutching her dignity like a worn-out coat. Sometimes I think she looked at me and saw every dream she’d lost.

Even though my mom carried me for nine months and gave birth to me, he never visited us once.

We lived in our own world in the east wing—me, her, and the spiders. Dad never came, not even when I was born. I’d ask about him, but Mom just sighed and said it was better not to know.

He didn’t even give me a name.

Some days, that felt worse than being ignored. I grew up answering to nicknames—kid, honey, silly girl. Only the old cook called me Maddie, so I stuck with it because it sounded sweet.

Dad still looked like he was trying to remember who Linda was, or which kid I was.

He squinted, like he was solving a riddle. The whole office watched this awkward reunion like a bad reality show.

He smiled gently and asked, “Little Maddie, what do you want from Dad?”

His voice was soft, the way you’d talk to a stray kitten. It was strange—almost kind—but I didn’t know what to say.

“I want to get married.”

I looked up at him and smiled. “Maddie’s grown up now. I can get married.”

I tried to sound confident, like it was totally normal. Some secretaries stifled laughs, but I kept my chin up.

Suddenly, the once-lifeless office burst into laughter. Dad helped me up and ruffled my hair, like I was his favorite kid.

I didn’t expect him to touch my hair. For a second, it almost felt like a real family. The laughter echoed, filling the room with a warmth I’d never known.

“Who does Maddie want to marry? Should Dad make it happen?”

It sounded like a joke, but I nodded seriously. For once, I felt important.

The old assistant joined in the fun. “I heard Maddie’s pretty close to Mr. Sanders.”

The words hung in the air. The room went quiet for a beat.

Dad raised his brows. “Little Maddie likes Mr. Sanders?”

He looked amused. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me. My cheeks burned.

Jason Sanders’s face changed. He pressed his lips together, his gaze flickering to me—he looked nervous.

I caught Jason’s eyes—usually calm, now wide and worried. He fidgeted with his sleeve button.

Maybe he really was afraid I’d say I wanted to marry him.

He looked like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. I almost felt bad for him.

I always knew Jason Sanders didn’t like me.

He never hid it. He was polite, but always distant—a wall I could never climb.

He’s a good person. We got to know each other because he helped me.

That first winter, when the pipes burst and the house was freezing, he found me shivering in a corner and offered his coat. I never forgot that.