What the hell do you think you’re doing in my bed? Edward Hawthorne’s voice shattered the stillness like a hammer against glass. He stood in the doorway of the master bedroom, his tall frame rigid with rage, disbelief carved into every hard line of his face. Rainwater dripped from his coat, but he didn’t seem to notice.
All his attention was locked on the woman in his bed, Maya Williams. She shot up from the mattress, heart pounding, eyes wide not with guilt, but with shock. The twin boys, Ethan and Eli, lay curled on either side of her, finally asleep, their faces soft, breathing deep.
The teddy bear in Ethan’s arms rose and fell in rhythm with his chest. I can explain, Maya said quietly, trying not to wake the boys. Her hands lifted slightly, calm, open.
They were scared. Eli started crying. Ethan got a nosebleed.
Edward didn’t let her finish. His palm came down fast, a sharp crack echoing off the walls as it struck her cheek. Maya staggered back, gasping, one hand flying to her face.
She didn’t cry out, didn’t even speak. Her eyes just locked on his, stunned more by the blow than the fury. I don’t care what excuse you have, Edward growled.
You’re fired. Get out of my house, now. She stood still for a moment, hand pressed to her cheek, trying to steady her breath.
Her voice, when it came, was low, almost a whisper. They begged me not to leave them. I stayed, because they were finally calm, finally safe.
Uh, I said get out. Maya glanced down at the boys, still sleeping so deeply, so peacefully, as if the shadows that haunted them had finally lifted. She leaned over gently, kissed the top of Eli’s head, then Ethan’s.
No words, no fanfare. And then she stepped away from the bed, shoes in hand, and walked past Edward without another word. He didn’t stop her.
He didn’t apologize. Downstairs, Mrs. Keller turned as Maya descended the stairs. The red mark on her cheek spoke volumes.
The older woman’s eyes widened in shock. Maya said nothing. Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle.
Maya stepped into the gray afternoon, pulled her coat tighter, and began walking toward the gate. Back upstairs, Edward stood in the master bedroom, still breathing hard. He looked at the bed again, jaw tight.
And then something registered. The quiet. He moved closer.
Ethan’s brow was smooth. No tossing, no whispering, no cold sweat. Eli’s thumb was in his mouth, but his other hand was resting on the blanket still, relaxed.
They were asleep, not drugged, not exhausted by crying, just… asleep. His throat tightened. Fourteen nannies.
Therapists. Doctors. Hours of screaming fits and anxiety.
And yet, Maya, this soft-spoken stranger had managed what none of them had, and he’d struck her. He sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Shame bled into his chest like ink in water.
On the nightstand, a note lay folded once. He opened it. If you can’t stay for them, at least don’t push away the ones who will.
It wasn’t signed. He read it twice, then again. His reflection in the nearby mirror looked back at him, a man hardened by grief, drowning in control, choking on silence.
Down the hall, Mrs. Keller stood watching. Sir, she said softly, she didn’t touch a thing in here, only brought them in when the little one had a nosebleed. He didn’t respond.
She stayed because they asked. That’s all. They didn’t ask for me.
They didn’t ask for anyone else. Just her. Edward looked up slowly, eyes dark with something more than anger now, something closer to regret.
Outside, the gate creaked closed, and for the first time in months, the Hawthorne house was silent not with grief or rage, but something else, peace, the kind Maya had left behind. The house was too quiet, not the comforting kind, like the hush of snowfall or the soft turning of pages in an old book. This was the kind that felt wrong, hollow, and unfinished, like a question left unanswered.