Two pairs of jeans. A handful of blouses. The pale yellow dress she wore on Aria’s last birthday. And the hairbrush Aria loved using on her dolls.
Lena left the brush behind.
It belonged to that house.
To a life that was no longer hers.
The driver, Mang Elias, stood beside the black sedan, door open. He said nothing, but his eyes carried confusion—and sympathy. He didn’t understand either.
Maybe it was better that way.
Because if someone asked her why, Lena wouldn’t have an answer.
That morning, Sebastian Calderon had called her into his office. His voice was flat, distant, as if delivering quarterly losses.
Her services were no longer required.
No reason.
No discussion.
He didn’t even meet her eyes.
Lena pressed her forehead against the cold car window as the estate faded into the distance.
She had arrived there at twenty-five—fresh out of a modest childcare program, unsure of herself, carrying nothing but hope and a few recommendations.
The agency had sent her as a temporary replacement.
She stayed because Aria—only two at the time—refused to sleep without her.
Children know things adults overlook.
Aria had studied Lena with solemn eyes that first day, then lifted her arms without hesitation.