His mother-in-law, Patricia, had called him one afternoon while he was in the middle of an acquisition meeting. She said the fourth nanny had quit something about the atmosphere being too heavy and that she’d found someone new, someone different. Benjamin had barely listened. He just said yes and gone back to his meeting. That was a month ago. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Who was she? Where did she come from? What made her different from everyone else who’ tried and failed to reach his sons? He pulled out his phone and opened the file Patricia had sent him. Jane’s application. He’d never actually read it. 27 years old. References from a family in Boston. No college degree. A handwritten note at the bottom that said, “I understand grief. I won’t run from it.” Benjamin stared at those words for a long time. Most people ran from grief. He knew that now.
They didn’t know what to say, so they said nothing. They didn’t know how to help, so they stayed away. Even his closest friends had stopped calling after the funeral. It was easier for everyone to just pretend the Scots were fine and moving on. But Jane hadn’t run.
She’d walked straight into the heaviest house in Greenwich and somehow made it feel light again. The next morning, Benjamin came downstairs earlier than usual. He told himself it was because he had an early call with Tokyo, but that wasn’t true. He wanted to see her. Jane was already in the kitchen moving quietly, making breakfast. She didn’t hear him at first. He stood in the doorway watching. She wasn’t doing anything special, just scrambling eggs, pouring orange juice.
But the way she moved, calm, steady, present. It was like she belonged there. The boys came running in, still in their pajamas. Mick saw her first and smiled. Actually smiled. Jane, Jane, can we play horse again today? Benjamin’s chest tightened. Jane glanced up and saw him standing there.
Her smile faltered just for a second like she wasn’t sure if she was still in trouble. Good morning, Mr. Scott, she said quietly. Benjamin, he corrected. His voice came out rougher than he meant. Just Benjamin, she nodded, turning back to the stove. Rick tugged on her shirt.
Jane, can we can we what, sweetheart? play horse like yesterday. Jane hesitated, her eyes flicking toward Benjamin. He should have said no. Should have reminded them that Jane had work to do. That playtime wasn’t part of her job description, but he didn’t. After breakfast, he heard himself say, three pairs of eyes turned to him, his sons, shocked that he’d said yes.
And Jane, surprised that he wasn’t angry. After breakfast, Jane repeated softly, smiling at the boys. Now sit down and eat. They obeyed without argument. Benjamin poured himself coffee and sat at the far end of the table watching. The boys talked to Jane while they ate. Not full conversations.
They still weren’t ready for that, but small things. Mick told her about a dream he had. Nick asked if she liked dinosaurs. Rick just sat close to her. Like being near her was enough. And Jane listened. Really listened. Like every word mattered. Benjamin realized something that made his throat tight. She wasn’t just good with them. She loved them and they loved her back.
For the first time in 8 months, Benjamin felt something he thought was gone forever. Hope. Benjamin started coming home earlier. He told himself it was because work was slowing down. That wasn’t true. The truth was harder to admit. He wanted to see them. Wanted to hear his sons laugh again.
wanted to watch Jane somehow breathe life back into a house that had felt dead for so long. Most days, he’d find them in the playroom or out in the yard. Jane would be sitting on the grass with all three boys, reading to them or helping them build something with blocks. She never made a big deal out of it, never performed for him.
She just loved them quietly, naturally, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Benjamin would watch from the window upstairs, careful not to interrupt. The house still carried Amanda everywhere. Her paintings hung on the walls, bright colorful abstracts she’d worked on late at night when she couldn’t sleep.
Her coffee mug sat in the cabinet, unwashed, exactly where she’d left it that last morning. Her handwriting was still on the grocery list, stuck to the fridge. Milk, eggs, blueberries, don’t forget mix medicine. He couldn’t bring himself to erase it. At night, after Jane put the boys to bed, Benjamin would walk through the rooms like he was searching for something he’d lost.
Sometimes he’d stop at the master bedroom door, but couldn’t go in. The bed was still made, the way Amanda had left it. Her pillow still had the dent from her head. Her book was still on the nightstand, bookmark halfway through. Changing anything felt like erasing her, so he slept in his office instead, on the couch, surrounded by work he didn’t care about.
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