Over the next week, Lois packs Mercedes’s things. Santiago sends a driver to pick them up. I hope for some news of her, but the driver, a stranger to me, doesn’t say a word to any of us. Simply loads the van with her things and is gone.

It’s in the second week that I receive word from an unlikely ally. Ivy.

She is safe. She’ll be alright.

I read it three times and finally breathe a sigh of relief. I sit on the edge of her bed. It’s been stripped, the room empty of any evidence of her ever having been here. I realize now that it’s gone how the delicate scent of her perfume hung in the air here. I’ve moved her soaps and lotions into my bathroom in a strange effort to keep her close. To keep some part of her.

I consider my reply. I have questions, but it’s not appropriate. I know that. I had the chance to take responsibility properly. I had many opportunities to make her mine in the correct way. And I know Santiago would have welcomed the union of our families. I have always known that. But I made a choice just as she did when she decided not to swallow that pill. And so, I type out a simple thank you, tuck the phone into my pocket, and stand.

The door opens then, and Lois peers inside. “There you are.”

I look at her. She smiles her best smile. “Everything alright?”

She nods. “When the girl brought down the sheets, I found something that must have gotten mixed up in it. I thought you’d want to have it.” She walks toward me as she takes an envelope out of her apron pocket. “I guess it was in her pillowcase or perhaps under the sheet.”

I take the envelope, oddly grateful for the find, and I know she’s looked inside from the expression on her face.

“Thank you, Lois.”

“Will you take breakfast in your study again?”

“No, thank you. I’m going to head into the office early.” I had cleared my calendar while my face healed enough that it wouldn’t raise eyebrows. It wouldn’t do for a judge to sit on the dais looking very clearly beaten.

“Alright.”

“Lois,” I say before leaving the room. “Has my mother been in touch?” My mother. Only one person had access and the ill intent to send that bloody sheet Santiago received in its glass and brass box.

“Nothing yet, sir. Paolo is keeping an eye on her cottage, but she seems to be away.”

“Thank you.”

I tuck the envelope into my breast pocket and hurry down the stairs and to my study to pick up my briefcase. I won’t let myself look at the contents until I’m at the office because this strange surge of excitement must be quelled.