“I don’t trust her, Ethan,” Mark had said. “The old nanny, Mrs. Alvarez—she’s worried. Says the girls change when you’re gone.”
Ethan had waved it off. Gossip. Adjustment. Jealousy. Anything but admitting he might have made a mistake.
He hadn’t chosen to become the dad who’s never home.
Two years earlier, the house had gone quiet when Laura, the girls’ mother, died suddenly. Since then, Ethan survived the only way he knew how: work, structure, control. He left early. Came back late. Hugged hard—but sometimes from the doorway, afraid to touch anything that might break.
Natalie Brooks had arrived four months ago as the “perfect solution.”
Thirty-three. Calm manners. Polished smile. Dinner ready. Beds made. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” said with practiced ease.
Exhausted, Ethan had wanted to believe her.
Now, as the sign for his gated neighborhood appeared ahead, that calm felt wrong—like perfume trying to cover smoke.
He pulled into the garage without fully turning off the engine. The house was dark, except for a thin line of light slipping through the study curtains.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside.