The words hit Victor hard. In business, he was relentless. At home, he felt defeated. Since his wife Margaret Caldwell died three years earlier, the children had hardened, as if grief had erased tenderness.
“Do you think this is funny?” Victor shouted. “Destroying everyone who tries to care for you?”
Isabella lifted her chin. “We don’t need anyone. No one is like Mom.”
That night, Victor barely slept. He scrolled through endless nanny profiles, none convincing. At breakfast the next morning, the table was full, but the air was empty—no smiles, no warmth.
The intercom buzzed.
“I’m here for the nanny position.”
Victor rose, already exhausted. When the woman entered, the room fell silent. Dark hair pulled back. Calm eyes. And a wheelchair.
“You came for the job?” Victor asked carefully.
“Yes,” she replied evenly. “And I didn’t come to quit.”
The children exchanged looks, suppressing laughter.
“And how are you supposed to control us if you can’t even walk?” Noah sneered.
“My name is Grace Miller,” she said calmly. “I don’t need to walk to take care of children. I need patience, boundaries, and courage. I’m not afraid of you.”
A fork clattered to the floor—on purpose.
“Pick it up,” Noah challenged.