Chapter 3
The mansion was bigger than I’d imagined.
So big I got lost three times on my first day, wandering down hallways lined with oil paintings and expensive vases, my one small suitcase feeling tiny and out of place.
My room was on the second floor, down the hall from Ethan’s.
It was bigger than my entire apartment.
King-sized bed, walk-in closet, a bathroom with a tub so deep I could swim in it.
I set my suitcase on the bed and just stood there, waiting for someone to tell me it was a mistake, that I had to leave.
No one did.
The first week was hard.
Evelyn made good on her threats.
She moved all my things from the big closet to a tiny broom closet down the hall, saying the space was needed for Lila’s dresses when she visited.
She told the kitchen staff to serve me cold food, to leave my plate off the table at dinner until everyone else was finished.
She told the maids not to listen to me, that I was still just the help, no matter what the contract said.
Daniel was never around.
He left before I woke up, came home long after Ethan was asleep, locked himself in his office until the early hours of the morning.
I only saw him in passing, a flash of tailored suit, a tired nod, nothing more.
Ethan was shy at first.
He followed me around the house like a small shadow, never saying much, just watching.
We’d sit in the playroom for hours, him building Lego towers, me reading on the couch, comfortable in the silence.
The first time he really talked to me was on my seventh night there.
It was 2am.
I woke up to screaming.
Loud, terrified, heart-wrenching screaming coming from down the hall.
I ran to Ethan’s room, throwing the door open.
He was sitting up in bed, sheets tangled around him, face streaked with tears, gasping for air.
“Mama!” he screamed. “Mama, don’t go! Please don’t leave me!”
I ran to the bed, climbing in beside him, and pulled him into my arms.
He clung to me so tight his fingers dug into my shoulders, his face pressed into my neck, his whole body shaking.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, rocking him back and forth, running my fingers through his soft hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
I sang the lullaby Mom used to sing to me when I had nightmares, soft and slow, the words I’d known since I was a baby.
Slowly, his shaking stopped.
His breathing evened out.
He went limp in my arms, asleep, his cheek still wet against my skin.
I didn’t move.
Just held him, staring at the photo on his nightstand.
Clara.
Daniel’s wife.
Ethan’s mom.
She was smiling in the photo, holding a newborn Ethan, her eyes crinkled at the corners.
But I saw it.
The same sad, tired look I’d seen in my own mirror a hundred times.
The look of someone who’d been crying, who’d been hurt, who was trying to be brave for the person she loved.
The door creaked open.
Daniel stood there, in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair messy, his face pale.
He’d been running.
“I heard him,” he said, quiet, stepping into the room. “No one’s ever been able to calm him down like that. Not since…”
He trailed off, looking at Clara’s photo.
“Not since she died.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at his son asleep in my arms.
“Thank you,” he said, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t cold.
It was soft.
Grateful.
Almost broken.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
He stood up, hesitated for a second, then reached out, brushing a strand of hair off Ethan’s forehead.
“Sleep well,” he said, to both of us, and left the room, closing the door soft behind him.
I lay there for a long time, Ethan still in my arms, listening to his steady breathing.
Outside, a wind blew through the trees.
Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked.
I thought of Evelyn’s threats.
Thought of Clara’s sad eyes.
Thought of the little boy in my arms, who’d lost so much already.
And I knew, deep in my bones, that I couldn’t leave him.
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No matter what Evelyn did.
No matter how hard it got.
