A reminder of why I chose to stay. Charles came in and sat by the door. Today I think you accomplished the impossible. No. Elenor shook her head. I just did what Valery did every day, only I came. Later, they brought cookies. They both laughed. And in that instant, the distance of months vanished. No employer or employee, no multimillionaire housekeeper, just two adults holding their children, learning to trust again. Elenor put down her pen and looked at Charles.
One day isn’t enough to prove anything, you know. Charles nodded. But it’s enough to make me start believing in you. He stood up, reaching for his sweater. “So, let’s see what 48 hours brings.” Charles smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.” The next morning, when Elenor came into the kitchen and found Charles there, Tay was about to hold two cups of coffee, one for him, one for her. “I thought I should learn how to make decent coffee if you’re sticking around here,” she said, setting down a cup.
“You just said yes.” Elanar raised an eyebrow, sitting with a smile. “After surviving 24 hours, I think that’s when I’ll stop.” Charles laughed, a relieved laugh he didn’t realize he’d forgotten. “Did you sleep well?” Pretty well, except for Lily. She kicked me twice in the ribs when she climbed into my bed in the middle of the night. She still does when I dream of Valerie,” Charles said quietly. “I thought time would sort them out, but it didn’t end.”
Elenor understood. Some stories don’t need any more. The sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs, followed by Tesa’s laughter. When Noah stumbled on the bottom step, Elenor left the table to start preparing breakfast with the children while Charles stayed behind, observing the scene from a distance. For the first time in months, the house didn’t feel like an echoing mausoleum; it felt like a family. But when the sunlight streaming through the window touched the dining table, Charles froze in the armchair by the window where Valerie used to sit and read to the children.
Her shawl remained intact, motionless. For eight months. Elenor saw it on her first day, but didn’t touch it. She knew that some wounds needed to remain intact to be respected, not hastily consoled or erased. She too had wounds like these, invisible but ever-present. Around noon, as everyone headed to the garden, Charles received a call from Sion’s therapist. The doctor was surprised to see him. I heard that Son had spoken again. What did he say? He asked if Elenor could tell stories.
Charles responded, his voice still tinged with emotion. “What do you think? I don’t think you need any more medication. You need to keep Elenor as long as you can.” Charles laughed, but the call had barely ended when an email stopped him in its tracks. A reporter from the El Medio Online Pageview sent a barrage of questions about the incidents at the Coole home. Rumors of uncontrollable violence, children, a string of employees quitting, and now an undocumented Black housekeeper, hired in haste. No one knew where the leak came from.
But Charles understood one thing. If the media found out Elar was here, if they vilified her, she would leave. And if she left, the spark of hope that had barely begun would be extinguished. He spread a black cloth over a beast, wore sunglasses, and held a cartoon cat funeral in the backyard mini-garden. He handed Tesa a broom and asked her to clean up every paint stain while he told a story about a girl named Tes he once drew in a Paredes foster home.
He gave Jud a picture of Valerie that Charles had hidden and asked, “Can you show me how to make that pasta?” He hugged Son without pushing him, without asking. He sang that song softly and slowly, until he stopped shaking. By nightfall, the house was eerily quiet. The children slept huddled together as if afraid someone would disappear in the night. Charles went upstairs and knocked softly on Elenor’s door. She was writing in a notebook with her feet propped up on the bed frame.
“You keep a daily log. I mean, call it a survival journal,” Elenor said with a soft laugh, just in case I ever needed it. A reminder of why I chose to stay. Charles came in and sat by the door. “Today I think you accomplished the impossible.” “No.” Elenor shook her head. “I just did what Valería did every day, only I came.” Later, they brought cookies. They both laughed. And in that instant, the distance of months vanished. Not an employer, not a multimillionaire housekeeper.
Just two adults hugging their children, learning to trust again. Elanor put down her pen and looked at Charles. One day isn’t enough to prove anything, you know. Charles nodded. But it’s enough to make me start believing in you. He stood up, reaching for his sweater. So, let’s see what 48 hours brings. Charles smiled. I’m looking forward to it. The next morning, when Elanor came into the kitchen and found Charles there, Tai, half-finished, was holding two cups of coffee, one for him and one for her.
“I thought I should learn how to make decent coffee if you’re sticking around,” he said, setting down a cup. “Did you do it? Just tell me if you did.” Elenor raised an eyebrow, sitting with a smile. “After surviving 24 hours, I think that’s when I’ll be sticking around,” Charles laughed, a relieved laugh. “He didn’t realize I’d forgotten.” “Did you do it? You’re sleeping well. Pretty well, except for the two kicks Lily gave me in the ribs when she crawled into my bed in the middle of the night.”
“He still does it when he dreams about Valery,” Charles said quietly. I thought time would sort them out, but it didn’t. Eleanor understood. Some stories don’t need any. The sound of footsteps echoed up the stairs, followed by Tesa’s laughter as she stumbled on the bottom step. Eleanor got up from the table to start preparing breakfast with the children while Charles stayed behind, observing the scene from a distance. For the first time in months, the house didn’t feel like a mausoleum, filled with echoes; it felt like a family.
But when the sunlight streaming through the window touched the dining room table, Charles froze in the armchair by the window where Valery used to sit and read to the children. Her shawl remained untouched, motionless, for eight months. Elanor saw it on its first day, but didn’t touch it. She knew that some wounds should remain untouched to be respected, not rushed to be comforted or cleansed. She too had wounds like that, invisible, but omnipresent. At noon, as everyone headed out to the garden, Charles received a call from Sona’s therapist. She was astonished to hear that Sona had spoken again.
What did she say? He asked if Elenor could tell stories. Charles answered, his voice still thick with emotion. “What do you think? I don’t think you need any more medication. You need to keep Elenor as long as you can,” Charles laughed. But the call had barely ended when an email stopped him. A cold. A reporter from the online outlet Page View sent a barrage of questions about the incidents at Cool Home, rumors of uncontrollable children, a series of staff resignations, and now an undocumented Black housekeeper hired out of desperation.
No one knew where the leak was coming from. But Charles understood one thing. If the media found out about Elenor, if they vilified her, she would leave, and if she left, the spark of hope that had been looming would be extinguished. He didn’t know that. At that moment, in the living room, Elenor was listening to Noa recount the time she got lost in a mall when she was a preschooler. And Valerie found him standing on a table and singing his favorite song loudly among hundreds of people.
“Mom never cared if she looked ridiculous,” Noah said, his eyes twinkling. “As long as we could hear her.” “You, Mom, was a warrior,” Elenor said softly. “And her voice was her sword. Do you have a voice?” Tesa asked. Elenor laughed. Of course she does, but it’s more like a pan banging against a pot. The children burst into laughter. Son spoke a second time. “Sing something.” That simple sentence silenced the others, who turned to him as if hearing a miracle.
And Elenor sang, just a short piece. An ancient melody about light in the darkness, not perfect, not soaring, but heartfelt. The children sat around her, and though no one said so, they listened to her as they had once listened to Valery with their hearts. On the other side of the door, Charles had been standing there, listening to it all. And for the first time since Valery’s death, he sat on the steps, covered his face with his hands, and wept.
Not from pain, but because something in him had just healed. Even if it was a little, some wounds are invisible, but with the right help, song, the right hug, and the right patience, they stopped bleeding. Elenor wasn’t trying to replace Valery, but in a way, she was helping them love the parts of themselves they’d forgotten. That afternoon, when Charles returned from a meeting, he intended to tell Elenor about the email, about the brewing media storm, but he stopped mid-stream.
Hallway. Through a half-open door, he saw her sitting on the living room rug, surrounded by the five children, each with their own expression, wounded question, and silent longing. And Elenor wasn’t lecturing or teaching; she just sat there listening. Lily was whispering in her ear, still clutching her broken doll. Zion was drawing a bridge over a chasm with crayons. Tesa was drawing herself, but with giant wings. Jud sat farther back.
with his chin resting on his hand, but his eyes were no longer cold. And Noah rested his head on Elenor’s leg, his eyes half-closed as if it were the safest place in the world. Charles knew he couldn’t break that moment with news of the outside world—not now, not when, for the first time, this house wasn’t just a container for pain, but a place where hope was born. But he also knew they couldn’t hide forever.
Just hours later, the news flooded the internet. A headline appeared on the front page of a news site: A Black maid at Culy Mansion. The story behind 18 runaway nannies. The red text plastered over an old photo of the house sparked a wave of comments. Below, people took sides. Some mocked Charles, calling him a father who lost control and let his children become demons. Others defended the children as victims of loss and media cruelty.
But most chilling was the grainy photo of Eleanor taken from a distance, her face in profile as she led the children through the park that morning. Her gentle gaze fell on Noah, who was clutching her hand. “Who is this woman? Is she legal? Did they do a background check?” someone commented. Another Black woman exploited and soon discarded as trash. Another responded, mixing venom with pity. Charles called Eleanor into his office. Her face was tense, her eyes heavy.
You need to know about this, and I need to be honest with you. He showed her the computer screen. She read it slowly and silently. No overreaction, no grimaces, just silence. “I don’t know who leaked this, Charles,” she said quietly. “Perhaps a former housekeeper or someone in the company. But if you feel you need to leave, I’ll understand. I’ll protect you however I can.” Elenor placed her hand on the sturdy desk. “I’ve lived my whole life under the critical gaze, as an orphan, as a Black woman, as someone without a degree.”
The world always has a label ready for me. He turned to Charles. But those five children don’t need me to leave to protect my reputation. They need me to stay to teach them what to be. Misunderstood doesn’t mean they’re worthless. Charles froze. It was something Valerie had said almost verbatim. He sank back in his chair, tired. You know, I once thought they were little devils. I said yes. He looked up, but today I saw Son draw that bridge and realized they’re just trying to reconnect something that’s been broken.
Eleanor smiled. Children aren’t born to destroy; they simply respond to destruction in the only language they know: chaos. She paused. The question: Are they neither demons nor people? But who is brave enough to stay and listen to them speak that language? Outside the hall, the boy’s footsteps tiptoed past. Eleanor knew they were eavesdropping. She opened the door without scolding, simply speaking loudly enough. If you want to know what people say about you, you should also learn to respond with your actions.
Jud stepped forward. His gaze was no longer shifty. “They call us monsters,” he said quietly. “No.” Elanor came forward, kneeling to greet him. “Eyes. They’re just children who haven’t been properly understood.” He stared at the group, “So tomorrow we’ll teach them. A little lesson about five children who don’t need sympathy, just a chance to be seen clearly.” Tesa raised her hand, eyes twinkling. “And what do we do?” Elanor smiled. “We’ll start with the banana. Bread.”
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