Choking On Sapphires

43 Daddy Issues

You're walking down the hall towards Alfie's study. You'd left your sketch pad in the room and wanted to retrieve it to do some drawing out in the garden. You had lots of autumnal colored new paints you wanted to use as the trees were starting to change. You adjust the large, thick knit men's cardigan around your slip dress. You hear a strange noise from the direction of the kitchen, choosing to investigate, you walk down the thin hallways, the noise growing louder. As you enter the scullery, you see Aggie on her knees, sobbing. You look around to see the other oldest employees of yours with tears in their eyes. A letter rests in front of the floor in front of Aggie, you rush to her side, hand on her back, trying to console her, her face in anguish.

"What's wrong Aggie?" you ask, pushing the hair out of her face that had fallen out of its usual tight bun. She's crying so hard she can't form words.
---------
You're in Alfie's study as you wanted to be alone and he was still at work. You're on your hands and knees in front of the fireplace, your face blotched and wet, the tears still coming, flowing from your eyes freely. The sobs came in groups, easing for a bit in cycles, and you stare blankly ahead in the downtime between the waves of grief. The cardigan had fallen off your shoulders, leaving them bare and frigid but you didn't notice. You were now slumped in absolute defeat and agony at the news, your body lay like a tossed rag doll long forgotten in a dark corner. You place your face on the rug, fingers scratching at the rough fibers in desperation as you'd groan and scream through clenched jaws. You're so oblivious to anything but your own pain that you don't hear the sounds of Alfie coming home.

He walks in, following the sounds of wailing as fast as his feet could carry him. He's shocked that the source is you, head in your hands, on your knees in the floor, crying so hard you were gagging and coughing, hands slapping against the floor as you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

"My God, Genevieve, what's happened?" he asks immediately words rushed but spoken so tentatively and soft. He slides to his knees next to you pushing your hair back, one hand on your back, a gentle back and forth trying to get you to acknowledge his existence. Him asking what was wrong, the mere thought of having to explain it made it too real and hurt too much and you let out a strangled cry that turns into more sobs.

His eyes are wide, he'd never seen you like this. He hadn't even been sure you had the capacity to feel things in such a way, but your ability to do so eased his mind in a way, it made you far more human to him. But his concern now was making sure you were alright and to keep you from making yourself sick on the rug.

You can't form words, there's no use in trying. Your shaking hand slaps onto two pieces of paper, your fingers clenching, crumpling the documents slightly as you push them towards him.

"You want me to read these?" he asks, making sure of your intentions. This was clearly something personal and he didn't want to cross any lines. You nod your head, still staring at the floor and wheezing.
He places his body, sitting on his knee's directly against yours, holding the papers in one hand. His arm around your twitching form in an attempt to try to give you any kind of comfort.

The first page is tear stained but still readable, he flattens it against the floor before picking it up again, putting his glasses on and reading. It was an announcement of the death of an Elizabeth Smyth. Died from complications from childbirth at age 22. Survived by her Husband William Smyth. No children. Underneath the formal announcement is handwriting instead of print. 'Due to your blatant disregard of my previous, fair warnings, I am demanding that you do not attend Elizabeth's funeral or any of the events surrounding it. You are banned from any further family gatherings because of your lack of compliance to the rules of the family, and hereby no longer welcome in the Greene Family home. No further contact will be made on this matter as it is final. Do not contact your siblings in regards to this or any other matters in the future. You should sit and be with your own thoughts as to how you've brought this burden upon your family and yourself, and I hope you can find solace in our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and his teachings to guide you towards better choices in the future. Signed George Greene III.'