Chapter 20: W For Wonderful

Chapter 20: W For Wonderful By the time Abigail finished the last of Genevieve's assignments, the sun had already climbed high into the sky. Her fingers ached, her head felt heavy, and exhaustion clung to her, making her limbs weak. She sat back in her chair, rolling her stiff shoulders, barely able to keep her eyes open. Just as she was about to shut the laptop, the door swung open, and Genevieve sauntered in, fully dressed and ready to leave. "I hope you're done," Genevieve said, her tone impatient and laced with expectation. Abigail didn't bother responding with her phone. Instead, she turned the laptop toward Genevieve, who leaned in, pretending to inspect the screen with a frown of deep concentration. Abigail watched her with tired amusement. It was obvious Genevieve didn't understand a word of what she was looking at, but she still made a show of scanning through it as if she had any intention of actually studying the work Abigail had done. "Hmm," Genevieve mused, nodding like a professor reviewing a thesis. Then she straightened and turned to Abigail. "Good. Get my luggage and handbag from the room and bring them to the car." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the laptop and walked out, leaving Abigail staring at the empty space where she had stood. A sigh slipped past Abigail's lips, but she didn't let it linger. She was too tired to get upset. At least Genevieve would be out of her hair now. Dragging herself to her feet, she went to Genevieve's room and did as she was told. The driver was already waiting by the car, and Genevieve was seated in the backseat, tapping away on her phone. Abigail handed the handbag to Genevieve while the driver helped her load the luggage into the trunk. "Don't you dare think you can slack off because I'm away. You have to take your call whenever I call and do not exit the departmental group chat. Follow up on the information and relate them to me. Also, make sure you get the assignments done and make special and easy-to-read notes for my tests and exams," Genevieve instructed. Abigail gave her a nod as she stepped back from the car. Waiting for the moment when the car would disappear from view. Abigail watched with bated breath as the driver got into the car. As the car slowly pulled away, she lifted her hand and waved enthusiastically. The moment the car disappeared down the driveway, she let out a breath of relief. Finally, Abigail thought as she returned inside the house. For the first time in weeks, she didn't have to deal with Genevieve's constant demands. And with their father hardly ever home, she could finally breathe. Although Abigail was beyond exhausted and needed sleep, hunger gnawed at her stomach because she had skipped breakfast in her haste to finish up Genevieve's assignment. Deciding she could rest later, she made her way toward the kitchen. As she stepped inside, the scent of omelet filled the air, and her stomach twisted violently. She wrinkled her nose as nausea bubbled up, making her take a step back. The cook, an older woman with warm eyes, noticed immediately and smiled with understanding. Ryan had informed them that Abigail was pregnant, and they were all to keep an eye on her and make sure she was comfortable. "You don't have to come in, dear. We'll send your breakfast to your room." Abigail shook her head, reaching for her phone. [I wanted to help with lunch.] The cook tsked, shaking her head. "You don't need to help when the smell makes you sick. Go rest." Abigail shook her head again, determined. She liked being in the kitchen. It was one of the few places in the house that felt warm and welcoming. Maybe it was because her mother had been a housekeeper. Before the cook could argue further, the back door swung open, and the trash man, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, stepped inside, carrying a bag slung over his shoulder. His gaze landed on Abigail, and he smiled. "Just who I was looking for. I got something for you," he said, reaching into his bag. Abigail tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her tired eyes. A moment later, he pulled out her stuffed panda from his bag. Lucy. Abigail's eyes widened as she took a step forward, her hands reaching for it before she could stop herself. "How...?" she typed quickly on her text-to-speech textbox. "The cleaner saw it among Genevieve's trash," he explained with a shrug. "She figured it had to be yours since she had seen it in your room before. She told me, and I decided not to trash it." She nodded, tapping on her phone. "Thank you." "Just make sure you hide it away from her so she doesn't know you have it, okay? I have to get going now. When next I come around, you're going to show me some coins to invest in, okay?" He said, holding out his fist. Abigail smiled and gave him a nod as she bumped his fist. As she watched him go, Abigail's fingers tightened around the stuffed panda, and warmth spread through her chest. It had come back to her despite the fact that Genevieve had thrown it away. Maybe she wasn't meant to part with Lucy, the panda, after all. She held it close, making a silent promise. She would keep it locked away, hidden where Genevieve would never see it again. One day, she would give it to her baby. The cook's voice broke through her thoughts. "You've got circles under your eyes. Go get some rest, child. We'll bring your meal up." Abigail hesitated, torn between wanting to stay and her exhaustion pulling at her limbs. But she needed to wash Genevieve's print off the panda first. As she turned to leave, she hesitated at the doorway, a question nagging in her mind. She looked back at the cook, who raised a brow. "Something on your mind?" Abigail nodded. She hesitated, then typed. "You've worked here the longest, right? Since I was a baby?" The cook's face softened, but she shook her head. "No, sweetheart. I only started working for Mr. Ryan after the tragedy." Abigail's fingers froze over her phone. Tragedy? Did it perhaps have to do with the nightmare she had? She quickly typed. [What tragedy?] The cook's smile faded. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Abi. We are not allowed to talk about it. Your father will be very upset, and I might lose my job if I tell you about it." Abigail felt a pang of frustration, but she nodded and turned away. As she walked into her room, her knee bumped against the edge of the door. She winced, rubbing at the spot. She raised her night dress to see if she had hurt herself and was relieved to see that there was no injury. Her eyes landed on the faint, W-shaped scar on her knee and her fingers brushed over the scar. As she straightened, a whisper of memory brushed against her mind. "W for Wonderful." Her breath caught in her throat. She froze. Where had that come from? She pondered, her heart pounding. As she sat on her bed, with Lucy the panda clutched tightly in her hands, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important she needed to remember. Perhaps she could start by trying to see if she would find the tragedy the cook had talked about on the internet.