Chapter 2 - The Woman I Planned to Fire
For several seconds, nobody moved.
The nursery remained frozen in a strange silence.
A few minutes earlier, this room had been filled with laughter.
My daughters’ laughter.
The sound I had spent four months desperately trying to hear again.
Now it was gone.
Maisie and Rosie stared at me from their crib, their tiny fingers wrapped around the white wooden rails. Their cheeks were still red from laughing, their eyes still shining with leftover happiness.
And Elise stood in front of them like someone waiting for a punishment.
Like she expected me to take everything away.
Maybe I should have.
That was what I had planned.
Before I opened that door.
Before I saw the impossible.
I had already decided her future.
She would leave this mansion before sunrise.
I would pay her more than necessary, thank her politely, and make sure security escorted her home safely.
Because that was how I handled everything.
Problems had solutions.
People had replacements.
Feelings were complications.
At least, that was what I told myself.
But standing there, watching my daughters look at Elise like she was the only person in the world who understood them, I couldn't force myself to say the words.
You’re fired.
They were right there.
On the tip of my tongue.
But they wouldn’t come out.
Elise lowered her eyes.
"I’m sorry," she whispered.
Her voice pulled me back.
"Sorry?"
She nodded quickly.
"I know how this looks."
I looked around the nursery.
A pair of yellow gloves sat on the floor.
The headphones were hanging from the edge of the crib.
The room looked completely different from the cold, quiet place I had become used to seeing every night.
"What exactly do you think it looks like?" I asked.
My tone was harsher than I intended.
Elise flinched.
Not dramatically.
Not like someone trying to gain sympathy.
Just a small reaction.
A person realizing the man standing in front of her was still angry.
"I heard them crying," she said softly. "I tried everything."
She glanced toward the twins.
"Nothing worked."
Her eyes became emotional.
"They were scared. They kept looking toward the door."
My expression tightened.
Because I knew exactly what she meant.
They were always waiting.
Waiting for their mother.
Waiting for someone who would never walk through that door again.
"I tried rocking them," Elise continued. "I sang to them. I read stories. I held their hands."
She paused.
"Nothing."
The word was almost a whisper.
"So I thought..."
She looked embarrassed.
"I thought maybe they didn't need someone to calm them down."
I said nothing.
"Maybe they needed someone to remind them they could still be happy."
For some reason, that sentence hurt more than it should have.
Because it sounded so simple.
So obvious.
And yet nobody else had thought of it.
Not the expensive specialists.
Not the experienced nannies.
Not me.
I had spent months trying to protect my daughters from pain.
But maybe I had forgotten they also needed reasons to smile.
I looked at the twins.
Maisie was holding onto the crib rail, watching Elise.
Rosie had one tiny hand stretched toward her.
They wanted her.
That realization unsettled me more than I expected.
"How long has this been happening?" I asked.
Elise hesitated.
"What do you mean?"
"The dancing."
A small, nervous smile appeared on her face.
"The gloves?"
She looked down.
"I know it’s silly."
"It is."
Her smile disappeared slightly.
I continued.
"But answer the question."
She took a breath.
"Every night."
My eyes narrowed.
"Every night?"
She nodded.
"When they wake up."
A strange feeling moved through me.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Elise looked surprised.
"Would you have listened?"
The question hit harder than I expected.
Because I didn't have an answer.
I looked away.
She was right.
For months, I had been surrounded by people giving me advice.
Doctors.
Therapists.
Employees.
Friends.
Everyone had an opinion.
And I ignored most of them.
Not because they were wrong.
Because accepting help meant admitting I couldn't fix this myself.
And I hated that.
I hated feeling powerless.
"I’m their father," I said quietly.
Elise looked at me.
"I know."
"I should be the one making them laugh."
Her expression softened.
"But you’re also the person who lost someone too."
I looked back at her.
Nobody spoke to me like that.
Nobody.
Everyone treated me like Victor Caruso.
The businessman.
The man who owned companies.
The man who could solve problems with money.
Nobody treated me like a man who woke up every morning and remembered his wife was gone.
"Careful," I said.
My voice became colder.
"You're starting to sound like you know me."
Elise didn't look away.
"I don't know you."
A pause.
"But I know your daughters."
That answer surprised me.
She continued.
"I know Maisie hates when people sing loudly."
A small smile appeared.
"I know Rosie grabs your finger whenever she’s nervous."
My eyes moved toward the crib.
Rosie was doing exactly that.
Her tiny hand wrapped around my index finger.
I hadn't even noticed.
"I know they both sleep better when someone leaves the hallway light on."
My chest tightened.
"How do you know that?"
"Because I pay attention."
Simple.
Two words.
But they stayed with me.
Because maybe that was what my daughters had needed all along.
Someone who noticed.
Someone who saw them.
Not their sadness.
Not their trauma.
Them.
I walked closer to the crib.
The girls watched me carefully.
Usually, when I entered after they woke up crying, they would become tense.
Sometimes they cried harder.
Tonight was different.
They weren't afraid.
Because Elise had changed something.
I hated admitting it.
But she had.
I looked at her.
"Where did you learn this?"
She blinked.
"Learn what?"
"How to handle children."
For the first time that night, her expression changed.
Something sad passed through her eyes.
A memory.
"I didn't."
The answer was unexpected.
"You didn't?"
She shook her head.
"I just know what it feels like to be scared."
The room became quieter.
I studied her.
There was something behind those words.
Something she wasn't saying.
But before I could ask, one of the twins made a small sound.
Rosie reached both arms toward Elise.
Immediately, Elise stepped forward.
"Can I?"
She looked at me before moving.
A simple question.
A request.
She wasn't assuming.
She wasn't taking my place.
She was asking permission.
I nodded.
Elise carefully lifted Rosie from the crib.
The baby immediately rested against her shoulder.
A few seconds later, Maisie started making impatient noises.
A tiny demand for attention.
Elise laughed softly.
"There’s always one who thinks she’s being ignored."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Then I remembered something.
Something that had been bothering me.
"You said you heard them crying."
Elise looked at me.
"Yes."
"Why were you awake?"
She froze.
Just for a moment.
But I noticed.
"I usually stay nearby."
"Nearby?"
"The nursery."
My eyes moved toward the small chair beside the crib.
"You sleep there?"
She looked uncomfortable.
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
She lowered her gaze.
"Because they wake up scared."
The answer was quiet.
But it carried weight.
"You’re not required to do that."
"I know."
"You’re being paid to work here."
"I know."
"Then why?"
Elise looked at the twins.
Then at me.
"Because they lost their mother."
The words landed between us.
"And someone should be there when they remember."
I couldn't respond.
Because that sentence wasn't about a job.
It wasn't about money.
It was about compassion.
Something I had almost forgotten existed.
I looked around the nursery again.
The room that had become a symbol of everything I lost suddenly felt different.
Not fixed.
Not healed.
But different.
For the first time in months, it didn't feel like a place where my family ended.
It felt like a place where something new might begin.
I walked toward the door.
Elise immediately became nervous.
"Mr. Caruso?"
I stopped.
I knew what she thought.
She thought I was leaving to call the agency.
She thought this was the moment everything ended.
But when I turned around, I surprised both of us.
"Tomorrow morning."
She waited.
"We’re going to talk."
Her face fell slightly.
"About my job?"
I looked at my daughters.
Then back at her.
"About everything."
A pause.
Then I added:
"And Elise?"
"Yes?"
I glanced at the ridiculous yellow gloves sitting on the floor.
A small smile almost escaped.
"Keep the gloves."
She looked confused.
"The girls seem to like them."
For the first time, Elise smiled again.
Not the nervous smile.
Not the polite smile.
The real one.
And somehow, seeing that smile made the room feel warmer.
I walked out of the nursery.
May you like
But this time, I didn't feel like I was leaving.
I felt like I was finally coming home.
