The next day, Jonathan did something unusual. He stayed home.
From his office, he watched Hannah on the terrace, guiding Ava’s hands over small pots of herbs.
“Touch this leaf,” Hannah said. “Smooth, right? Now smell it—that’s mint.”
Ava laughed. “Like the mint Nana Rose grew at the old cabin!”
The memory struck Jonathan hard. His late wife’s mother. How did Hannah know?
At lunch, he watched again as Hannah carefully described each plate, cutting Ava’s food neatly so she could eat with confidence. Finally, Jonathan asked,
“How do you know so much about helping blind children?”
Hannah hesitated. “My younger brother is blind. Growing up, I learned how to support him—without holding him back.”
“Where is he now?” Ava asked.
“In Seattle,” Hannah said proudly. “He teaches music. He always says blindness isn’t his identity—just one part of him.”
The warmth vanished when Claire entered. Ava stiffened. Hannah quietly stepped away. The room fell silent.
That night, Claire confronted Jonathan. “That maid is becoming too close to Ava. She’s staff. She shouldn’t be filling a mother’s role.”
“Hannah isn’t replacing anyone,” Jonathan said calmly. “She’s helping. Ava feels safe with her.”