Rebecca Miles stepped off the long distance bus at the station in Bellingham, Washington, with a battered suitcase in one hand and a folded address note in the other. She checked the numbers twice, then again, because nothing in front of her matched anything she had ever known. Beyond the tall iron gate stood a vast modern mansion overlooking Silver Lake, built of pale stone and glass, surrounded by evergreen trees and quiet water that reflected the morning sky. A fountain murmured at the center of the circular driveway, elegant and distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.
Rebecca tightened the knot of her loose ponytail, smoothed her thrift shop sweater, and drew in a steady breath. At thirty four, she had cared for many children in many homes across Washington state. She had worked night shifts in Spokane, managed medical routines in Tacoma, and stayed calm during emergencies that left parents shaking. Still, this house did not feel like a home. It felt like a monument to wealth and worry.