From his hiding place, Raymond could see the stone terrace leading to the house. Lanterns glowed warmly. Tables had been arranged for a future engagement celebration. Everything looked perfect. Yet from inside the mansion came a sound that shattered the illusion. Three thin cries, desperate and uneven, pierced the evening calm.
A young woman hurried through the front door moments later. Her name was Grace Miller, a café waitress from a small bakery in town. She had received a frantic call from the estate housekeeper and had rushed over still wearing her apron. She found the triplets inside the nursery, their cheeks wet with tears, bottles overturned, blankets kicked aside. Their tiny hands reached into empty air.
Grace did not hesitate. She lifted one child into her arms, then another, then balanced the third against her shoulder. She changed diapers, warmed milk, and began humming an old lullaby her grandmother used to sing. The crying softened into hiccups. Hiccups became silence. The babies fell asleep, resting against her like trusting sparrows.
That was when Madelyn entered.