Alessandro’s lip trembled again. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But I know that you’re not bad kids. I know that you’re not monsters. And I know that the last nanny ran away because she couldn’t handle the grief. Not the apple. Not the cereal. Not the orange juice. The grief.”
Luca made a small sound. A whimper. The first sound he had made all night.
Serena walked over to him. She didn’t crouch down. She didn’t try to touch him. She just sat on the floor beside him, her back against the cabinets, her knees drawn up to her chest, mirroring his posture.
“I’m not going to leave,” she said quietly. “Not because I’m brave. Not because I’m strong. Because I need this job. Because I need to prove to a judge that I can provide a stable home for my daughter. Because I need to keep her safe.”
Luca looked at her. His eyes were wet. His voice was barely a whisper.
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Lucia.”
“How old is she?”
“Seven.”
“Does she have a father?”
“She does. But he’s not a good man. He hurts people. He hurts her. And I’m trying to make sure he can’t hurt her anymore.”
Luca was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and took her hand. His fingers were small and cold. She held them gently.
“You can’t save us,” he said.
“I know.”
“We’re too broken.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Serena looked at him. She looked at the other boys. She looked at Victor, who was still standing in the corner, his glass of wine untouched, his face unreadable.
“Because broken things can be mended,” she said. “It takes time. It takes patience. It takes someone who won’t run away when things get hard.”
She stood up. She walked back to the stove. She finished the pasta. She set four plates on the table. She poured four glasses of water. She called the boys to dinner.
And they came.
Marco sat first. Then Nico. Then Alessandro. Then Luca, still holding her hand, still looking at her like she was the first person who had ever seen him.
Victor set down his glass. He walked to the table. He sat at the head. He looked at Serena.
“You have seventy-three minutes,” he said. “You used sixty-eight.”
She looked at the clock. He was right. She had three minutes left.
“Then I guess I’m hired,” she said.
The boys ate. They didn’t throw anything. They didn’t yell. They didn’t pour juice on the floor. They just ate, quietly, carefully, like they were afraid the food might disappear if they looked away.
When they finished, Serena cleared the plates. She washed the dishes. She wiped the counters. She mopped the floor. And then she walked to the door.
“Where are you going?” Marco asked.
