“He hasn’t said a single word,” the therapist admitted quietly.
Daniel’s voice was tight. “There must be something else we can try.”
The therapist hesitated.
“Sometimes… grief builds walls that logic can’t reach.”
Daniel looked toward the staircase leading to Lucas’s wing.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he whispered. “Just watch my son disappear?”
A week later, a woman named Marta Ruiz arrived at the front gate.
Her dress was simple.
Her shoes were worn.
She clutched a small handbag as if it contained everything she owned.
The butler eyed her skeptically.
“You’re here for the housekeeping position?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Marta replied softly.
He shook his head.
“Women with university diplomas couldn’t handle this house. What exactly do you think you’re going to do?”
Marta lowered her gaze politely.
“I just need the job.”
Daniel overheard the conversation from the hallway.
Exhaustion had stripped away his usual caution.
“Fine,” he said. “You’re hired.”
The butler blinked. “Sir?”
Daniel turned to Marta.
“You’ll clean the east wing,” he said firmly. “That’s where my son stays.”
He paused.
“Do not speak to him. Do not touch him. And do not try to ‘help.’”
Marta nodded.
“Yes, sir.”