Daniel froze. The words did not belong to the warm, gentle nanny he believed he had hired three years earlier.
He removed his shoes so they wouldn’t echo on the marble floor and quietly walked toward the backyard. Every step felt heavy. When he reached the glass door and looked outside, the sight nearly stopped his heart.
Under the shade of the magnolia tree sat Ryan in his wheelchair—the lightweight titanium chair Daniel had imported from Germany so his son could move more freely.
But now it was a prison.
A thick rope wrapped around Ryan’s chest, securing him tightly to the backrest. Another rope tied his wrists to the armrests. His ankles were bound to the footrests so tightly that deep red marks cut into his skin.
Ryan’s small hands were clenched in helpless fists. His head hung low, and his body trembled with silent sobs.
Standing beside him, arms crossed with an expression of irritation, was Laura. She scrolled on her phone with one hand and lazily flipped through a magazine with the other.