Step by step he moved down the hallway, terrified of what he might find — and even more afraid of letting himself hope again.
Five days earlier, on Monday morning, Ethan had woken to the sound of breaking glass.
He stared at the ceiling, listening. Another crash followed, then Lila’s voice — sharp and commanding even at three years old — and Sophie’s high-pitched scream that once made neighbors call the police.
6:45 a.m. The war had already started.
He knew he should get up, but his body felt heavy. This used to be the time Olivia would walk into the bedroom carrying coffee, humming softly while she poured it. She would kiss his forehead and make him smile before the day began.
Now her side of the bed was cold.
Downstairs something shattered again.
Ethan finally forced himself up and walked down the stairs like a man heading toward execution.
The kitchen looked like a disaster zone. Cereal covered the counters, milk dripped across the floor, and bowls were scattered everywhere.
On the table sat a folded note.
He already knew what it said.
“Mr. Parker, I’m so sorry. I tried, but I can’t do this anymore. Your daughters need more help than I can give.”
Another nanny gone.