I hired help because I was drowning. An agency sent several candidates, all qualified, all polite, all forgettable. Then a young woman named Keisha stepped into my office. She spoke softly, met my eyes without fear, and said she could start immediately. She did not ask about pay first. She asked where the children slept.
“You understand this is a demanding household,” I said.
She nodded. “I understand children who need calm. I can give them that.”
I hired her on the spot.
My sister in law Delphine arrived three days later with designer luggage and eyes that sparkled with purpose. She hugged me, kissed the twins, and told everyone she came out of love. Yet love did not explain how often she asked about the trust Brianna left behind, or how quickly she suggested that I was unfit to raise twins alone.
One evening she cornered me in the study.
“You look exhausted, Trevor,” she said. “Perhaps it would be wise to consider shared guardianship. I could help you. For the children sake.”
“I can handle my own children,” I replied.
Her smile did not falter. “Of course. I only worry.”
Worry did not explain why she stared at Paige longer than Jonah, like Paige was a puzzle she wanted to solve.