Standing there were Ethan and Lily, eight-year-old twins, dressed identically, as though someone had tried to freeze them into the same image. Ethan stared at the floor. Lily crossed her arms tightly. Both carried the expression of children who had learned that showing emotion rarely changed anything.
“She’ll be your nanny,” Richard said flatly.
Marian bent slightly to their level and smiled, soft and patient.
“Hi. I’m Marian. What would you like for dinner tonight?”
Lily blinked slowly, as if the question were in a language she barely remembered.
“Nothing,” she said.
Ethan echoed the word without lifting his eyes.
Marian felt a sharp ache in her chest. She had heard stories of grief, of children who refused food, of silent rebellions. But this wasn’t stubbornness.
This was hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Richard watched her carefully, as if deciding whether she would crack under the weight of it all. Then he nodded and led her through the house, his voice neutral, the way someone guides guests through a museum.