I open the door and nothing but coldness and silence welcomes me.

Anita, the help, sees me standing by the door and she rushes to me. Anita is a beautiful middle aged woman with brown hair and kind blue eyes.

“Madam, you’re back.” She grabs my bag.

“Thank you, Anita.” I sigh

She disappears to the east wing of the house, to put my bag down, I suppose. I walk aimlessly behind her, so I could get a glimpse of my son’s bedroom, the bedroom he never got to sleep in.

My lips start quivering as I open the door to his nursery. When I step inside, nothing but emptiness welcomes me. I had painted the walls blue, and they’re now painted black. The crib, the toys, the towels are all gone! Everything is gone!

“Anita!” I shout, my heart beating rapidly

She rushes to me, then stands still by the open door.

“Where are my son’s things?” I whisper.

“Mr Grayson threw them out.” She replies.

“All of them?” I cry

“Everything. He burnt them, then painted the walls like this.” Anita tells me, with sadness in her eyes.

How could he do this to me? I want to say, but instead I crumble to the floor and cry helplessly.

I wonder what he told our parents about me being outside alone, at that time. The loss that caused me to lose my child, my only chance at happiness. Anita kneels beside me, and brushes my back as I continue to grieve for the life lost.