“We manage,” Sophie said. “We always do.”
“I believe you,” he said. “But tonight you don’t have to. I have a house that’s too big and too quiet. I hate eating dinner alone. Come be my guests. Hot baths, real food, warm beds. Just that.”
Sophie looked at her sisters’ blue lips and shaking shoulders. Street sense screamed “no.” Big-sister instinct whispered “this is the only shot.”
She nodded.
Soon they were wrapped in blankets in the Tesla, heading to Ethan’s estate. When the iron gates opened and the mansion appeared, lit up in the storm, all four gasped.
Inside, the housekeeper, Mrs. Porter, stared.
“These are Sophie, June, Lily and Bea,” Ethan said. “They’re my guests. Four hot baths, softest towels, pink pajamas. Tell the kitchen: spaghetti, roast chicken, fries, and all the chocolate ice cream we have. Tonight is a party.”
Later, four clean girls with brushed blond hair and oversized pajamas devoured food at the long mahogany table, laughing and arguing over the last piece of chicken. The house, silent for years, came back to life.
Ethan barely ate. He just watched, a strange warmth replacing the cold in his chest.