Dalia spoke in a warm whisper. “Thank you for today. Thank you for giving these girls a chance to wake up. Thank you for reminding me that even broken stories can be written again.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. She kissed each toddler gently. She was not performing for anyone. She was not pretending. She looked like a woman offering a prayer just to keep her heart beating.
Braylen froze. He did not feel anger. He felt stunned. He realized he had not seen that kind of affection in his own house for too long.
He backed away before she could notice. He returned to the entryway and deliberately closed the door louder than necessary. When he walked back toward the living room, Dalia startled and scrambled to her feet.
“Mr. Monroe,” she said, smoothing her blouse with nervous hands. “I apologize. They were fussy. I was trying to calm them. I meant no disrespect. I can prepare lunch if you would like.”
Her voice trembled. Braylen could only manage to respond in a soft tone. “Thank you. For being here. For caring about them.”
She blinked, confused by his sincerity. She bowed her head and busied herself in the kitchen.