“I’m not here to replace anyone,” Marian said. “I’m here to take care of them.”
Diana stood slowly. “We’ll see.”
That afternoon, Marian found Diana in the playroom—the one that had been closed for years. The windows were open. Sunlight poured in. Toys were scattered across the floor.
Diana stood very still, surveying the space like a crime scene.
“You opened this room,” she said.
“Yes.”
“It was closed for a reason.”
Marian kept her voice steady. “Because it reminded people of happiness?”
Diana’s eyes flashed. “Because it reminded us of loss.”
Silence stretched between them.
“The children are smiling again,” Marian said. “Is that really a problem?”
Diana turned sharply. “You think smiles mean healing? You think pancakes and games undo grief?”
“No,” Marian replied. “But silence doesn’t either.”
That landed harder than Diana expected.
Later that night, Marian overheard voices through the study door.
“She’s overstepping,” Diana was saying. “You hired her to watch them, not to rewrite how this house works.”
“I see them eating,” Richard replied quietly. “Sleeping. Laughing.”
“And what happens when she leaves?” Diana pressed. “They’ll break all over again.”
Richard didn’t answer.