Alexander had spent a fortune on the best child psychologists in Los Angeles and Houston. He filled the yard with toys, bought miniature ponies, hired specialists. Nothing worked. Eventually, broken by grief, he buried himself in his companies and left their care to the staff.
Six weeks ago, Mrs. Carmichael had hired a new nanny—Lucy, a 28-year-old from a modest neighborhood in East LA.
Now, drawn by the sound, Alexander moved quietly toward the kitchen.
Sunlight spilled across the room—and the sight before him stopped him cold.
The three girls sat barefoot on the marble island, swinging their legs, singing loudly and joyfully. Lucy stood in front of them, flour smudged across her cheek, whisking batter in a bowl while harmonizing with their song. The girls’ cheeks were flushed. Their eyes sparkled.
They looked alive again.
For three brief seconds, relief nearly brought Alexander to his knees.
Then something dark and bitter rose in his chest.
Jealousy. Rage. Humiliation.
A stranger—a hired employee—had done in six weeks what he couldn’t achieve with all his wealth. Lucy was stepping into Emily’s place. She was stealing his daughters from him.