“That’s enough,” Mr. Harrington said, suddenly beside them.
He called his longtime housekeeper, Mrs. Eleanor Hayes.
“Prepare food for them. And pack a basket. Rice, beans, chicken, fruit… and hot soup. Their sister is ill.”
The children exchanged stunned looks.
Inside the grand kitchen, Lily held her bowl of soup with both hands as if it were sacred. Ethan ate slowly, trying to stay polite despite his hunger.
Watching them stirred a memory Mr. Harrington had buried for decades.
He had once had a daughter.
Small. Feverish.
But back then, he had chosen a crucial business meeting over staying at her hospital bedside.
By the time he returned, it was too late.
Since then, the house had felt too large. Too quiet.
Maybe pushing the world away had been easier than facing the emptiness.
When the children finished eating, Ethan stood.
“Thank you, sir. We can come back tomorrow to finish the yard.”
“Where do you live?” Mr. Harrington asked.
They described a modest brick house nearby.
Without another word, he grabbed his car keys.
“I’ll drive you.”