When she was seventeen, her younger brother had died in a house fire. Since then, fear no longer startled her. Silence did not frighten her. Pain felt familiar.
Her phone buzzed. The agency supervisor sounded rushed. “Emergency placement. Private estate. Immediate start. Triple pay.”
Nora looked at the tuition bill taped to her refrigerator. “Send me the address.”
The Whitaker house was beautiful in the way money always was. Clean lines, ocean views, manicured hedges. Inside, it felt abandoned. The guard opened the gate and murmured, “Good luck.”
Jonathan met her with dark circles under his eyes. “The job is cleaning only,” he said quickly. “My daughters are grieving. I cannot promise calm.”
A crash echoed overhead, followed by laughter sharp enough to cut.
Nora nodded. “I am not afraid of grief.”
Six girls stood watching from the stairs. Hazel, twelve, her posture rigid. Brooke, ten, pulling at her sleeves. Ivy, nine, eyes darting. June, eight, pale and quiet. The twins Cora and Mae, six, smiling with too much intention. And Lena, three, clutching a torn stuffed rabbit.
“I am Nora,” she said evenly. “I am here to clean.”
Hazel stepped forward. “You are number thirty eight.”
Nora smiled without flinching. “Then I will start with the kitchen.”
She noticed the photographs on the refrigerator. Maribel cooking. Maribel asleep in a hospital bed holding Lena. Grief was not hidden here. It lived openly.
Nora cooked banana pancakes shaped like animals, following a handwritten note taped inside a drawer. She placed a plate on the table and walked away. When she returned, Lena was eating silently, eyes wide with surprise.
The twins struck first. A rubber scorpion appeared in the mop bucket. Nora examined it closely. “Impressive detail,” she said, returning it. “But fear needs context. You will have to work harder.”
They stared at her, unsettled. When June wet the bed, Nora said nothing except, “Fear confuses the body. We will clean quietly.” June nodded, tears pooling but not falling.
She sat with Ivy through a panic episode, grounding her with soft instructions until her breathing slowed. Ivy whispered, “How do you know this?”
“Because someone once helped me,” Nora replied.
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