She placed Lily into the high chair already waiting between them, then slid into the seat. For a moment, the three of them sat there like any other family—quiet, comfortable, unremarkable. And for Maya, that was the strangest feeling of all.
Lily dropped a spoon. Maya bent to pick it up. When she looked up, Nathaniel was watching her—not with intensity, but with attention.
«What?» she asked.
«Nothing,» he said, though his expression said otherwise.
After breakfast, Nathaniel followed Maya to the nursery. She didn’t mind. Lily had fallen asleep mid-play, her tiny arms wrapped around a stuffed bear Maya had sewn back together last week.
«She’s grown fast,» he said, glancing at the crib.
«Babies do that when they’re safe,» Maya replied, gently straightening the blanket.
Nathaniel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. «I’ve been thinking about expanding the app, adding a section for caretakers, nannies, foster parents, even volunteers—people like you.»
«I’m not like them,» Maya said, not looking up. «Most of them get to go home.»
He paused. «What if this became home?»
She turned slowly. «What are you saying?»
«I’m saying,» he hesitated, «you’ve become more than part of the staff. You’re part of this place, of Lily’s life, of mine.»
Maya stood straighter, her voice even. «Are you offering me a job or a future?»
He blinked, caught off guard. «I’m offering a choice—to stay. Not because of obligation, but because you belong here.»
Maya studied him, her gaze sharp. «You can’t say things like that without knowing what they mean.»
«I do,» he said quietly. «And I’m not asking for an answer today.»
She nodded. «Good, because I don’t have one.»
Later that evening, Maya found herself standing alone in the library. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows across the bookshelves. She wandered between them, fingertips brushing the spines, stopping only when she found the small cloth-bound book from her bed, the one with the ribbon. She opened it again. You deserve to be more than someone who survives. The handwriting was unmistakably Nathaniel’s.
She closed the book, held it to her chest. Behind her, the door creaked open.
«You left this,» his voice said.
«I know,» Maya replied without turning.
He stepped inside, his tone careful. «I wrote it before I was ready to say it out loud.»
«And now?»
«Now I’m trying to be a man who says the right things before it’s too late.»
Maya turned to face him. «I’ve been in too many rooms where people said the right things, but none of them stayed.»
«I will,» he said. «If you’ll let me.»
She didn’t smile, but something in her shoulders softened. «Then stay,» she said. «But not just when the fire is lit and the room is quiet. Stay when it’s cold, when it’s messy, when Lily’s teething and I’m tired, and your schedule is a mess.»
«I will,» he said again.
Maya nodded once. «That’s a start.»
That night, Lily woke up crying around 2 a.m. Maya was already halfway to the nursery when she heard it, but when she opened the door, Nathaniel was there, cradling Lily in his arms, gently bouncing her, whispering a lullaby Maya had sung a hundred times. He didn’t see her at first, but when he did, he didn’t flinch. He just kept rocking.
«She wouldn’t settle at first,» he whispered. «Then I remembered your hum. The rhythm. I tried it. I think it worked.»
Maya walked in slowly, standing beside him. «You’re doing fine,» she said.
He looked down at the baby, then back at Maya. «So are you.»
And in the quiet nursery, beneath the sound of the wind outside and the soft breath of a child at peace, Maya realized something terrifying and beautiful. She was no longer waiting to be seen. She already was.
It started with laughter—not loud, not forced, just soft, surprised, and utterly unplanned. Maya was carrying Lily through the hallway when the little girl sneezed so dramatically it startled a nearby cat statue into tipping over. The ancient thing wobbled, teetered, and fell with a thud onto the carpet. Lily burst out laughing, and Maya, after a stunned beat, joined her.
Mrs. Delaney poked her head out from the kitchen, eyebrows raised. «Was that what I think it was?»
«I think the lion’s dead,» Maya said, deadpan.
The housekeeper’s mouth twitched. «Well, at least she’s happy.»
«She’s been smiling more lately,» Maya said. «Sleeping better, too.»
«She’s sensing the shift,» Mrs. Delaney replied. «Babies know, more than most grownups do.»
Maya looked down at Lily, who was now trying to grab her necklace. «Yeah,» she murmured, «she knows.»
Later that day, Nathaniel knocked on the nursery door. Maya looked up from where she sat on the floor, stacking colored blocks with Lily.
«You’re knocking now?» she asked.
«I’m learning,» he said slowly.
She smiled faintly. «Come in.»
He stepped inside with two mugs in hand. «I made coffee.»
«You made coffee,» Maya repeated, skeptical.
«It might be terrible.»
She took the mug. «If I die, Rosa will avenge me.»
He smiled and settled down beside her, legs folded like it was the most natural thing in the world. Lily beamed and crawled right into his lap.
«Every time I see her do that,» Maya said quietly, «I wonder how long she waited to feel that safe.»
He looked at the baby, now content and tugging at his sleeve. «I think I waited just as long.»
They sat there for a while, all three of them, the silence not awkward but warm. The blocks toppled, Lily clapped, and for a moment, the world outside didn’t matter. Until it did.
It was just after sunset when the phone rang—sharp, shrill, demanding. Nathaniel answered in the hallway. Maya could hear his voice, low but tense, though she couldn’t make out the words. When he returned, his face was different—closed, controlled.
«What is it?» she asked.
He hesitated. «Claire’s coming.»
Maya’s fingers froze mid-fold over Lily’s blanket. «Claire?»
«She wants to see Lily.»
Maya’s voice dropped. «Why now?»
«I don’t know,» he said. «She didn’t say much, just that she’s in town and wants to talk.»
«When?»
«Tomorrow.»
Maya nodded once, stiffly. «Right.»
Nathaniel stepped closer. «Maya?»
«No,» she said. «It’s fine. She’s Lily’s mother.»
«I didn’t say that to hurt you.»
«You didn’t have to,» she replied. «It’s just the truth.»
That night, Maya didn’t sleep. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the baby monitor beside her bed humming softly. Every so often, she’d glance at it, as if expecting Lily to disappear.