The garden became a place to play. Marian found a deflated ball and invented games. She let the twins win. Laughter—soft at first—began to leak into the house like light through a crack.
She reopened a playroom that had been locked for years. Dust wiped away. Curtains opened. Sunlight poured in.
“This room is yours,” she told them. “Do whatever you want here.”
Lily hugged an old doll. Ethan picked up a book. They still didn’t talk much—but their bodies relaxed. At night, when Marian read to them, they no longer asked her to leave quickly.
Presence was finally filling a space no one had dared name.
One evening, as Marian left their room, she found Richard standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets.
“What did you do to them?” he asked—not accusing, but afraid.
“Nothing,” Marian said softly. “I was just with them.”
Richard lowered his gaze.
“I haven’t seen them like this… in a long time.”
Marian wanted to say it’s not too late, but some words need time.
The first real disruption didn’t come from the children.
It didn’t come from Richard.
It arrived in high heels.
Diana Collins, Laura’s sister, walked in early Monday morning like the house belonged to her—elegant, sharp-eyed, her smile cold and measuring.
She stopped in the kitchen, taking in the scene.
“Well,” she said lightly,
“what a cheerful little picture this is…”
Diana Collins’s voice cut through the kitchen like a blade wrapped in silk.
“Well,” she said again, letting her gaze drift over the flour-dusted table, the half-eaten pancakes, the twins sitting close to Marian, “this is… unexpected.”
Lily froze mid-bite. Ethan’s shoulders tightened.
Marian straightened calmly. “Good morning. You must be Diana.”
Diana smiled without warmth. “And you must be the new nanny. You’ve certainly made yourself comfortable.”
Before Marian could answer, Richard appeared in the doorway. His expression shifted—just slightly—when he saw his sister-in-law.
“Diana. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I was in town,” Diana replied smoothly. “And I thought I’d check on the children. Someone has to make sure things are… appropriate.”
Her eyes returned to Marian. “Are they usually allowed to make a mess like this?”
Marian met her gaze. “They made breakfast. Together.”
Diana raised an eyebrow. “They’re not children who enjoy chaos.”
“They’re children,” Marian said gently. “Chaos comes with that.”
The air grew tense. Richard cleared his throat. “Diana, we can talk later.”
“Oh, of course,” she said, already walking toward the twins. She crouched in front of them, heels clicking against the tile. “Hello, my loves.”
Lily looked at Marian before answering. Ethan didn’t respond at all.
Diana noticed. Her smile tightened.
“My sister would never have allowed this kind of disorder,” she said lightly, but the words carried weight. “Laura believed in structure. In discipline.”
Marian felt it then—the quiet accusation. You’re replacing her.
“I’m not here to replace anyone,” Marian said. “I’m here to take care of them.”
Diana stood slowly. “We’ll see.”
That afternoon, Marian found Diana in the playroom—the one that had been closed for years. The windows were open. Sunlight poured in. Toys were scattered across the floor.
Diana stood very still, surveying the space like a crime scene.
“You opened this room,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It was closed for a reason.”
Marian kept her voice steady. “Because it reminded people of happiness?”
Diana’s eyes flashed. “Because it reminded us of loss.”
Silence stretched between them.
“The children are smiling again,” Marian said. “Is that really a problem?”
Diana turned sharply. “You think smiles mean healing? You think pancakes and games undo grief?”
“No,” Marian replied. “But silence doesn’t either.”
That landed harder than Diana expected.
Later that night, Marian overheard voices through the study door.
“She’s overstepping,” Diana was saying. “You hired her to watch them, not to rewrite how this house works.”
“I see them eating,” Richard replied quietly. “Sleeping. Laughing.”
“And what happens when she leaves?” Diana pressed. “They’ll break all over again.”
Richard didn’t answer.
Two days later, Marian noticed something strange.
Lily stopped talking during meals. Ethan withdrew during games. Their eyes followed Diana whenever she entered a room.
That night, Lily woke up crying—silent tears soaking her pillow.
“She said Mommy wouldn’t like me anymore,” Lily whispered, clutching Marian’s sleeve. “She said Mommy is sad because we’re happy.”
Marian’s chest tightened.
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