The morning after the bonfire, the house felt unbearably loud. Bright. Polished. Alex was already strutting about in his dressing gown like nothing had happened, as if nearly drowning in the lake was just another one of his dares gone wrong. Jack was teasing him mercilessly about needing to be rescued by a girl. Mother hushed them both at the breakfast table, but even as she poured her tea she gave Alex a look that said she thought the whole thing was an embarrassment.
I couldn't stand it.
The clinking of cutlery, Father rustling the morning paper, Mother reciting her list of errands — it all scraped against my nerves. Emma's face kept flashing before me instead, pale and shivering under the blanket, her hair sticking to her cheeks, her eyes big with something she tried to hide.
I told them I was going for a walk. Father didn't even lower his paper; Mother only arched a brow, like she didn't believe me but had no reason to stop me.
As soon as I was out the door, I breathed easier. The air was cooler down by the lake, the woods whispering in the breeze as I followed the path toward the groundsman's cottage. My heart thudded faster the closer I came. I wanted to see her. To make sure she was warm now, safe. To hear her laugh again, even if it was at one of my dreadful jokes.
But when I knocked on the door, it wasn't Emma who answered.
Mr. Rivers stood there, his shirt sleeves rolled up, looking more tired than I'd ever seen him. His eyes softened for a moment when he recognised me, but then his face shuttered.
"Morning, lad."
"Is Emma in?" My voice came out too eager, and I tried to rein it back. "I just… I wanted to check she was all right after last night."
His expression flickered — something protective, something sad. He shook his head.
"She's not well. Fever came on overnight. Best you let her rest."
My stomach dropped. "Oh. Is... is it bad?"
He waved a hand, trying for casual, but his eyes betrayed him.
"She's strong. She'll be fine. Just needs rest and quiet."
I nodded, though the worry gnawed at me. "Should I… maybe come back later?"
"Tomorrow," he said firmly, his tone making it clear the conversation was over. "Give her some time."
I hesitated, shifting on my feet. "Will you… tell her I asked after her?"
His face softened again, just slightly. "I will."
And that was that. The door closed gently, leaving me staring at the wood, fists clenched in useless frustration.
I walked back to our house slower than before, dragging my feet on the gravel path, wishing I could just stay outside until night fell. The thought of her in bed, flushed with fever, made me ache with helplessness. All I wanted was to be near her, to let her know she wasn't alone.
But as soon as I stepped back into our house, I forgot about everything else.
Voices carried from Father's study — low, deliberate, but sharp enough to cut through the quiet halls. I froze by the stairs, holding my breath.
"…construction should begin before the end of the summer," Father was saying. "The permits are already lined up."
Mother's voice followed, crisp as glass. "And the clearing? The woods are so untidy, Jonathan. Think of what a proper development will mean. Cottages, a golf course, perhaps even a tennis court. The sort of neighbours we deserve."
I pressed closer to the wall, heart pounding. Clearing. Woods. Development.
Father again, his tone firm with satisfaction. "Exactly. This estate has been wasted on trees and squirrels for too long. The land is valuable, and we need to capitalise on it. The investors agree. Once the groundsman's contract is up, we'll have a clean slate."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Groundsman. Contract.
Emma's father.
The visit from the men. The quiet meetings behind closed doors. The hushed looks. It all clicked into place in a way I desperately wished it didn't.
They weren't just building houses. They were tearing apart Emma's world.
I must have made some sound — a sharp breath, a scuff against the wall — because suddenly the study door swung open. Father's tall figure filled the doorway, his eyes pinning me where I stood.
"Thomas," he said, not surprised, not angry. Just expectant, like I should have known better.
I swallowed hard. "Is it true?" My voice shook, and I hated that it did. "You're clearing the woods? Making them move?"
Mother appeared behind him, smoothing down her skirt like the very idea of me questioning them was offensive. "Thomas, this isn't a matter for you to involve yourself in."
"It is!" The words burst out before I could stop them. "It's Emma's family. That's their home. You can't just —"
"Enough." Father's voice cracked like a whip, silencing me.
His eyes narrowed, his jaw hard. "This is progress, Thomas. This is opportunity. The land has potential far beyond a single cottage and an underpaid groundsman."
I took a step forward, fists clenching at my sides. "It's not just land. It's their life. You're ruining —"
"Ruining?" His laugh was bitter, sharp. "Do you know what ruin looks like, boy? Ruin is failing to seize an opportunity when it's handed to you. Ruin is falling behind while others build fortunes. I won't let this family fall behind."
"This isn't about us," I snapped, my voice rising. "This is about them. About Emma."
The moment her name left my mouth, the room shifted.
Mother's eyes sharpened, her lips pursing faintly. Father's face darkened.
"So that's it," he said slowly. "The Rivers girl."
He shook his head, disappointment dripping from his tone. "I should have known."
"She's not — she's not just some girl," I stammered, fury and shame battling in my chest. "She's —"
"She's nothing to do with you," Father cut in, his voice final. "And she will not derail your future. Do you understand me?"
I shook my head. "No. I don't. I won't just stand by while you —"
"You will."
His voice thundered, filling the hall, shaking something deep inside me.
"You will grow up, Thomas. You will accept that sacrifices must be made for progress. And you will remember your place in this family."
My throat burned, but I forced the words out anyway.
"If this is progress, I don't want it."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Father's jaw worked, his hand curling into a fist at his side. Mother's face had gone pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of fury and something like fear.
Finally, Father spoke, each word heavy as stone.
"You are a boy. One day you will understand. Until then, keep your head down, do as you're told, and don't embarrass this family."
He turned back into the study, the door closing with a final, deliberate click.
I stood frozen in the hall, my heart pounding, my body trembling with rage I couldn't contain. Mother gave me one last cold look before sweeping upstairs, her heels clicking like gunshots on the steps.
The house was quiet again, but I couldn't breathe. All I could see was Emma's face, hear her laughter, feel her shiver against me in the woods. And now the truth pressed in on me, cruel and undeniable: my family was the reason hers would lose everything.
I pressed my palms against the wall, my breath ragged. For the first time in my life, I hated this house, this family, the future carved out for me.
I didn't know how, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: I couldn't let them take her world away.
Not without a fight.