Blinded by exhaustion and reassured by others, Michael heard only defiance.
“Stop exaggerating,” he muttered. “Always the same drama.”
He locked the door from the outside and walked away, believing he was enforcing discipline—never noticing the quiet figure who had seen everything.
Standing in the shadows was Margaret Collins.
Margaret was the new nanny, though everyone called her Mrs. Margaret. Her gray hair was pulled into a neat bun, her hands rough from years of work, her eyes sharp with experience. She had no certificates on the wall, no formal training—but she knew the sound of children’s cries. And what she had heard was not misbehavior. It was pain.
Since arriving at the mansion, Margaret had noticed what others dismissed. During the day, Noah was gentle and affectionate. He loved drawing animals and hiding behind curtains to jump out with shy laughter. But as evening approached, fear overtook him. He clung to doorways, begged not to go to his room, tried to fall asleep anywhere but his bed—the sofa, the hallway rug, even a hard kitchen chair.