The city of Seattle lay beneath Matthew Hayes like a circuit board of grey and silver, pounded by the relentless Pacific Northwest rain. From his office on the 45th floor, the people down below were nothing more than ants scurrying for cover.
That was how Matthew liked it. Distance. Perspective. Control.
At thirty-eight years old, Matthew was a titan of real estate. He bought crumbling neighborhoods and turned them into glass utopias. He spoke in the language of acquisition, equity, and leverage. His calendar was segmented into fifteen-minute intervals, managed by three assistants who knew better than to schedule anything personal.
But today, the schedule felt like a cage.
It was 2:00 PM on a Tuesday. He was in the middle of a negotiation for a waterfront property worth $400 million. Across the mahogany table, a team of lawyers was droning on about zoning permits.
Usually, Matthew lived for this—the kill, the deal, the handshake. But today, a strange, suffocating pressure sat on his chest. It wasn’t a heart attack; his physician had given him a clean bill of health last week.
It was silence.
He suddenly thought of his house. The sprawling estate in Medina, nestled behind iron gates and security cameras. He thought of the way the echo sounded in the foyer when he left at 5:00 AM, and the way it sounded when he returned at 9:00 PM.
He thought of Noah, ten years old, who shook his hand like a business associate instead of hugging him. He thought of Grace, six years old, who had stopped asking him to read her bedtime stories a year ago.
“Mr. Hayes?” one of the lawyers asked, noticing Matthew’s thousand-yard stare. “Regarding the clause on page fifty…”
Matthew stood up. The leather of his chair creaked loudly in the hush of the boardroom.
“We’re done for the day,” Matthew said.
The lead lawyer blinked. “Sir? We are hours away from closing.”
“Reschedule,” Matthew said, grabbing his jacket. “I’m going home.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He walked out of the glass tower, ignoring his driver, and got into his personal car—a black Aston Martin that he rarely drove himself anymore.
As he merged onto the bridge, the rain drumming against the roof, he tried to rationalize the feeling. Was he sick? Was he burnt out?
No. It was simpler, and far more terrifying. He felt like he was forgetting something vital. A memory he couldn’t place, scratching at the back of his mind like a phantom limb.
Chapter 2: The Silent Mansion
The Hayes estate was a masterpiece of modern architecture. It was all sharp angles, floor-to-ceiling windows, and polished concrete. It was featured in Architectural Digest. It was the envy of the neighborhood.
It was also the coldest place on earth.
Matthew pulled into the driveway. The house loomed dark against the grey sky.
Three years ago, this house had been different. It had been messy. There were toys in the hallway. There was music—usually 80s pop—blasting from the kitchen.
That was when Elena was alive.
Elena, his wife, had been the sun to his moon. She was the one who made the house a home. She was the one who softened Matthew’s sharp edges. When she died in a car accident on a rainy Tuesday just like this one, the color drained out of Matthew’s world.
He dealt with his grief the only way he knew how: he worked. He outsourced the grief. He hired the best nannies, the best tutors, the best chefs. He ensured Noah and Grace had everything money could buy—the newest consoles, the finest clothes, horse riding lessons.
But he couldn’t give them himself. Because every time he looked at them, he saw her. He saw Elena’s eyes in Noah. He saw Elena’s smile in Grace. And it hurt too much to look.
So, he hired Olivia.
Oliva had come to them six months after the funeral, when the third nanny had quit because the children were “too withdrawn.” Olivia was different. She was in her late forties, a woman with kind eyes and hands that looked like they had worked hard her entire life. She didn’t have a degree in child psychology. She didn’t speak three languages.
She just… stayed.
She cleaned, she cooked, and she managed the children. She was quiet, efficient, and demanded nothing. Matthew paid her well, nodded to her in the hallways, and largely ignored her existence. To him, she was part of the machinery that kept the house running.
Chapter 3: The Sound of Life
Matthew unlocked the front door. He expected the usual silence—the heavy, expensive silence of a museum.
Instead, he heard something that made him freeze, his hand still on the brass handle.
Music.
Not the classical music he sometimes played on the surround sound. It was old, crackly jazz. Something warm and bouncy.
And underneath the music, a sound even more foreign.
Laughter. Unrestrained, belly-shaking laughter.
Matthew checked his watch. 3:30 PM. The kids should be in their rooms doing homework. The tutor was supposed to be monitoring them. Strict study hours were from 3:00 to 5:00. That was the rule.
He frowned. Had Olivia lost control of the house? Was the tutor slacking off?
He moved quietly across the marble foyer. The sound was coming from the formal dining room—a room they hadn’t eaten in since the funeral. Matthew hated that room. It was where they had held the wake.
He approached the double doors. They were slightly ajar.
He crept closer, intending to burst in and reprimand the staff for disrupting the schedule. He was ready to be the boss. He was ready to restore order.
He reached the doorframe and looked inside.
The breath left his lungs in a sharp, painful gasp.
Chapter 4: The Fortress of Blankets
The dining room table—a $40,000 custom piece imported from Italy—was gone.
Or rather, it was invisible.
It had been draped in mismatched sheets and blankets. The expensive velvet chairs had been pulled inward, creating a massive, chaotic fort that spanned the center of the room. String lights—cheap, battery-operated fairy lights—were draped over the chandelier and down onto the fort, creating a glowing, magical canopy.
The room didn’t look like a billionaire’s estate. It looked like a childhood dream.
Matthew watched, paralyzed.
From inside the fort, he heard Grace’s voice.
“Captain! The storm is getting worse! We’re going to lose the main sail!”
Then Noah’s voice—usually so serious, so quiet. “Hold steady, sailor! We just need to get past the Kraken!”
And then, Olivia’s voice. She wasn’t using her “housekeeper” voice, the submissive, quiet tone she used with Matthew. She was roaring.
“I AM THE KRAKEN! AND I WANT… COOKIES!”
A tentacle—actually Olivia’s arm wrapped in a green towel—shot out of the fort and grabbed a stuffed bear.
The children shrieked with delight.
Matthew felt a lump form in his throat. He hadn’t heard Noah play pretend in three years. He hadn’t heard Grace scream with joy since she was a toddler.
But it wasn’t just the playing that stopped him. It was what happened next.
The game settled down. The “storm” passed.
“Okay, crew,” Olivia said, her voice softening. “The sea is calm. Time for rations.”
Matthew shifted slightly to get a better angle. Through a gap in the sheets, he could see them.
They were sitting on the floor under the table. Olivia was sitting cross-legged. Noah was on her left, Grace on her right.
In front of them was a plate. It wasn’t the organic, chef-prepared kale and salmon Matthew insisted on.
It was grilled cheese sandwiches. Cut into triangles. With the crusts cut off.
Matthew gripped the doorframe. Elena.
Elena used to cut the sandwiches exactly like that.
“Olivia?” Grace asked, holding her sandwich with both hands.
“Yes, my love?”
“Do you think Mommy can see us?”
The air in the room seemed to vanish. Matthew’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was the question he avoided. This was the question he hired therapists to answer so he wouldn’t have to.
Olivia didn’t hesitate. She didn’t give a generic answer.
She reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Grace’s ear—a gesture so tender it made Matthew’s eyes sting.
“I don’t just think so, Grace. I know so.”
“How?” Noah asked. He sounded skeptical, trying to be the brave man his father wanted him to be. “Dad says she’s gone. He says we have to move forward.”
Matthew flinched. Is that what they heard?
Olivia looked at Noah. She didn’t contradict Matthew, but she didn’t lie either.
“Your Dad is a builder, Noah. He looks at what is in front of him. But love? Love isn’t like a building. It doesn’t fall down just because you can’t see it anymore.”
She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out something.
It was a small, battered book. Matthew recognized it instantly. The Velveteen Rabbit. It was the book Elena used to read to them every night. He thought it had been lost in the donation boxes he ordered the staff to clear out years ago.
“Did you save this?” Grace whispered.
“I found it,” Olivia lied gently. “I thought maybe… today… we could read it. Since today is a special day.”
“It is?” Grace asked.
“What’s today?” Noah asked.
Olivia smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Today is the day your Daddy founded his company, ten years ago. It’s a big anniversary.”
Matthew froze. He had completely forgotten. The lawyers, the deal, the stress—he had forgotten his own milestone.
“He didn’t say anything,” Noah muttered, looking down at his sandwich. “He never says anything.”
“That’s because he’s carrying a very heavy mountain, Noah,” Olivia said firmly. “He works hard to build a castle for you two so nothing bad can ever get in again.”
“He doesn’t like us,” Grace said quietly. “He never looks at us.”
This was the dagger. Matthew felt his knees go weak. He wanted to burst in and deny it, to scream that he loved them more than life itself, that he worked to secure their future.
But he stayed silent. He needed to hear Olivia’s answer.
Chapter 5: The Lesson
Olivia shifted. She put an arm around Grace and pulled Noah closer until his head rested on her shoulder.
“Look at me,” Olivia said. Her voice was fierce now. “Your father loves you so much that it scares him. When you lose someone you love, sometimes your heart freezes up to protect itself. It’s like… it’s like winter. But winter doesn’t last forever. The spring comes back. But we have to be patient with him.”
She picked up the book.
“Now, who wants to hear the part about becoming Real?”
“Me!” Grace said.
As Olivia began to read, Matthew saw something that broke him completely.
He saw Noah, his stoic, hardened ten-year-old son, reach out and grab Olivia’s hand. He interlaced his fingers with hers and closed his eyes, just listening to the rhythm of her voice.
He was starving for touch. He was starving for a mother.
And Grace… Grace was leaning against Olivia’s chest, her thumb in her mouth, looking peaceful for the first time in years.
Olivia wasn’t just a housekeeper. She was the dam holding back the flood of their trauma. While Matthew was out building skyscrapers, she was in here, under a table, building his children.
She was doing his job. And she was doing it with a grace he didn’t possess.
Matthew backed away from the door.
He walked silently back to the foyer. He didn’t go to his study. He didn’t go to his bedroom.
He went to the coat closet.
He opened the door and dug through the back, past the trench coats and the designer umbrellas. He found it.
An old, dusty guitar case.
He hadn’t played in years. Elena loved it when he played. He used to play Beatles songs for the kids when they were babies.
He took the guitar out. His fingers were stiff. He checked the tuning. It was off, but passable.
He walked back to the dining room.
Chapter 6: The Intruder
Inside the fort, the story was ending.
“Real isn’t how you are made,” Olivia read softly. “It’s a thing that happens to you.”
Matthew stepped into the doorway.
He strummed a G-chord. It rang out, loud and resonant in the quiet room.
The fort went silent.
“What was that?” Grace whispered, terrified.
“It’s Dad,” Noah hissed. “We’re in trouble. We’re not studying.”
“Quick, hide the food,” Grace panicked.
“No,” Olivia whispered. “Stay still.”
Matthew walked closer to the table. He felt like an intruder in his own home. He felt unworthy of the magic they had created.
He tapped on the side of the blanket fort.
“Permission to come aboard?” he asked. His voice was thick, cracking with suppressed emotion.
Silence from inside.
Then, slowly, a flap of the blanket lifted.
Grace peeked out. Her eyes were wide, fearful. She looked at Matthew, then at the guitar.
“Daddy?”
“I heard there was a Kraken in here,” Matthew said, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. “And I heard… I heard there were grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Grace looked back at Olivia. Olivia nodded, her own eyes wide with shock.
Grace pushed the blanket aside. “You can come in. But… you’re too big.”
“I’ll make myself small,” Matthew said.
And the billionaire, the man who wore $5,000 suits and commanded armies of employees, dropped to his knees. He crawled on the expensive Persian rug. He crawled into the darkness of the blanket fort.
The space was tight. It smelled like fabric softener and cheddar cheese.
He sat cross-legged opposite Olivia.
Olivia looked terrified. She started to scramble up. “Mr. Hayes, I am so sorry, I know this is against protocol, I just wanted to—”
“Olivia,” Matthew said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her.
He looked her in the eye.
“Thank you.”
The words hung in the air.
Olivia’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She saw the tears on his face. She saw the guitar.
Matthew turned to his children. They were looking at him like he was an alien species.
“I forgot my company anniversary,” Matthew said to them. “But I remembered a song.”
He looked at Noah. “Do you remember ‘Here Comes The Sun’?”
Noah shook his head slowly. “No.”
The word hit Matthew like a physical blow. Of course he didn’t remember. He was seven when Elena died.
“Well,” Matthew choked out, placing his fingers on the fretboard. “It goes like this.”
He started to play. It was clumsy at first. But then the melody found him.
Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter…
He sang. He wasn’t a great singer, but in that fort, he sounded like a rock star.
Grace watched his fingers. Slowly, she scooted closer.
By the second verse, she was leaning on his knee.
By the bridge, Noah was humming along, a memory unlocking in his brain.
When the song finished, the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was warm.
“Did Mom like that song?” Grace asked.
“It was her favorite,” Matthew whispered.
He looked at Olivia. “I didn’t know you kept the book.”
“I couldn’t let it go,” Olivia whispered. “It was too important.”
Matthew reached out and took the book from her. He ran his thumb over the cover.
“I’ve been winter,” Matthew said, looking at his kids. “Just like Olivia said. I’ve been winter for a long time. But I don’t want to be anymore.”
He pulled Noah and Grace into a hug. It was awkward at first—the bulk of the guitar was in the way—but then they melted. They grabbed him. Grace buried her face in his neck. Noah gripped his shirt.
They sobbed. Not out of sadness, but out of relief. The dam had broken for them, too.
Matthew looked over their heads at Olivia. She was crying silently, trying to make herself invisible in the corner of the fort.
“Don’t go,” Matthew said to her.
“Sir?”
“Join the family,” Matthew said. “Please. We can’t do this without you.”
Chapter 7: The New Blueprint
The next morning, Matthew didn’t go to work.
His assistants called. His lawyers called. The partners called about the $400 million deal.
Matthew answered one call.
“Mr. Hayes, the zoning permits are ready,” the lawyer said. “We can close by noon.”
Matthew looked out the window. In the backyard, Noah was teaching Olivia how to throw a football. Grace was chasing the gardener’s dog.
“I’m not closing,” Matthew said.
“Excuse me? The penalty fees—”
“Pay them,” Matthew said. “I’m taking a sabbatical.”
“For how long?”
“Until I remember how to be real,” Matthew said.
He hung up.
He walked into the kitchen. He opened the fridge. He took out the kale and the salmon and threw them in the trash.
He found a loaf of white bread and a block of cheddar cheese.
He walked out to the patio.
“Hey!” he yelled.
Noah, Grace, and Olivia turned around.
“Who wants to teach me how to make a proper grilled cheese?”
Noah smiled—a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes, the same eyes his mother had.
“I will,” Noah shouted. “But you have to cut the crusts off!”
“Deal,” Matthew said.
As his children ran toward him, the billionaire realized something. He had spent his life building towers of glass and stone, thinking that was his legacy. But as he looked at the housekeeper who had saved his family, and the children who were finally looking at him with love, he knew the truth.
The most important thing he would ever build wasn’t a skyscraper. It was a bridge back to his children’s hearts.
And for the first time in three years, the house wasn’t cold. It was full.
Chapter 8: The Golden Handcuffs
Three months had passed since the day of the blanket fort.
The Hayes estate had changed. The silence was gone, replaced by the chaotic, messy, beautiful sounds of life. There were muddy footprints in the foyer. There was the smell of burnt toast in the morning (Matthew was still learning to cook).
But the outside world was not happy about Matthew’s “sabbatical.”
Matthew’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It was the fifteenth time that morning.
“You should answer it,” Olivia said. She was standing at the sink, washing strawberries. She wore jeans and a simple sweater, looking more like a part of the family than an employee.
“It’s just Richard,” Matthew said, flipping a pancake. “He can wait.”
Richard Sterling was Matthew’s CFO and the shark of the company. He was the man who handled the dirty work so Matthew could keep his hands clean.
“He called the house line twice,” Olivia noted gently. “He says it’s an emergency. Something about the shareholders panicking.”
Matthew sighed. He looked at Noah and Grace, who were arguing over the syrup. He didn’t want to leave this bubble. But he knew he couldn’t hide in a blanket fort forever.
“I’ll take it in the study,” Matthew said.
He walked into his office—a room he hadn’t entered in weeks. The air was stale. He picked up the phone.
“This better be good, Richard.”
“Good?” Richard’s voice was like ice. “The stock is down twelve percent, Matthew. The board is voting on a vote of no confidence. They think you’ve had a nervous breakdown. They’re saying you’re unfit.”
“I’m grieving,” Matthew snapped. “And I’m parenting. Tell them to back off.”
“I can’t hold them back anymore,” Richard said. “I’m coming over. We need to strategize. And Matthew? Clean yourself up. You sound soft.”
Chapter 9: The Shark in the Water
Richard arrived an hour later. He drove a silver Porsche and wore a suit that cost more than most people’s cars.
He didn’t come alone. He brought a legal team and a public relations specialist.
They set up in the living room, spreading documents over the coffee table where Grace had been coloring just minutes before.
“Here’s the narrative,” the PR woman said, tapping a tablet. “We say you’ve been working on a secret philanthropic project. We stage a photo op. You, the kids, looking somber but strong.”
“I’m not using my kids as props,” Matthew said, crossing his arms.
“You don’t have a choice,” Richard cut in. He looked around the room, sneering at a pile of Lego bricks in the corner. “This place is a disaster. Where is your staff? Where is the discipline?”
Just then, Olivia walked in. She was carrying a tray of coffee.
“I thought you gentlemen might need caffeine,” she said softly.
Richard looked at her. He didn’t say thank you. He scanned her up and down, noting the lack of a uniform, the casual air, the way she looked at Matthew with familiarity.
“Who is this?” Richard asked.
“This is Olivia,” Matthew said, his voice hardening. “She manages the household.”
“The housekeeper?” Richard raised an eyebrow. “Since when do housekeepers sit in on board meetings?”
“Since she became the only person in this house who knows how to make coffee worth drinking,” Matthew retorted. “She stays.”
Olivia set the tray down, her hands trembling slightly. She felt Richard’s gaze. It wasn’t just dismissive; it was predatory. He was analyzing her.
“Olivia,” Richard said, picking up a cup. “That’s a lovely accent. Where are you from?”
“Upstate,” Olivia said quietly.
“And before you worked for Mr. Hayes? What were your qualifications?”
“Richard, enough,” Matthew barked. “We’re discussing the company, not my staff’s resume.”
Richard took a sip, his eyes never leaving Olivia as she retreated to the kitchen.
“You know, Matthew,” Richard said, lowering his voice. “The board is worried about your… judgment. A billionaire recluse, suddenly playing house dad, influenced by the help. It looks vulnerable. And sharks love vulnerability.”
Chapter 10: The Background Check
Two days later, the atmosphere in the house shifted.
Matthew had to go into the office for a mandatory board meeting to save his CEO position. He left Olivia with the kids.
“I’ll be back by dinner,” he promised Grace, kissing her forehead.
“Don’t let the suits eat you,” Noah warned.
Matthew laughed. “I’m the biggest monster in the jungle, kid. Don’t worry.”
But while Matthew was fighting for his company in the city, Richard Sterling was fighting a different war.
Richard sat in his office, looking at a file a private investigator had just dropped on his desk.
“You’re sure about this?” Richard asked the PI.
“One hundred percent,” the PI said. ” fingerprints don’t lie. Her name isn’t Olivia Vance.”
Richard opened the file. He smiled. It was a cruel, satisfied smile.
“Well, well,” Richard whispered. “Matthew Hayes thinks he’s found Mary Poppins. Turns out, he’s harboring a fugitive.”
Chapter 11: The Ultimatum
Matthew returned home exhausted. He had managed to stall the board, but he was hanging by a thread. He needed to secure the waterfront deal to prove he was still focused.
He walked into the kitchen, loosening his tie.
“Olivia?” he called out. “Is there any of that lasagna left?”
No answer.
The kitchen was dark.
“Olivia?”
He walked into the living room.
Richard was sitting in Matthew’s favorite armchair.
And Olivia was standing in the middle of the room, crying. Noah and Grace were nowhere to be seen.
“Where are the kids?” Matthew demanded, adrenaline spiking.
“In their rooms,” Olivia whispered. “Safe.”
“What are you doing here, Richard?” Matthew growled, stepping between his CFO and Olivia.
“I’m saving you,” Richard said calmly. He tossed a manila folder onto the coffee table. “from her.”
Matthew looked at the folder. Then at Olivia. She looked terrified. Not the shy nervousness she usually showed, but deep, primal fear.
“Don’t look at it, Matthew,” Olivia pleaded. “Please. Just… just let me leave. I’ll pack my bags. I’ll disappear.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Matthew said. He picked up the folder.
He opened it.
The first page was a mugshot.
It was Olivia. Younger, tired-looking, with a bruised eye.
The name on the booking sheet read: Sarah Jenkins. Charges: Grand Larceny. Embezzlement. Flight to avoid prosecution.
Matthew felt the room spin.
“She’s not a housekeeper, Matthew,” Richard said, standing up. “She’s a thief. She worked for a wealthy family in Chicago five years ago. Fifty thousand dollars of jewelry went missing. And so did she.”
“I didn’t take it,” Olivia sobbed.
“You changed your name,” Richard countered. “You used a fake social security number to get this job. You’ve been lying to Mr. Hayes every single day.”
Richard turned to Matthew.
“Think about the headlines, Matthew. ‘Billionaire CEO Leaves Children with Wanted Felon.’ Child Protective Services would have a field day. The board would remove you immediately for reckless endangerment. You would lose the company. You might even lose custody of Noah and Grace.”
Matthew looked at the mugshot. Then he looked at Olivia.
“Is it true?” Matthew asked. “Is your name Sarah?”
Olivia nodded slowly. tears streaming down her face. “Yes. But I didn’t steal the jewelry, Matthew. You have to believe me.”
“Why did you run?”
“Because of my husband,” she whispered. “He… he was the one who took it. He forced me to pawn it. He beat me if I didn’t. When the police came, he blamed me. He had a record; he said if he went back to jail, he’d kill me. So I ran. I just ran.”
“A likely story,” Richard scoffed. “Domestic abuse victim turns into the perfect nanny? It’s a con, Matthew. She’s been playing you. She saw a lonely widower and dug her claws in.”
Richard buttoned his jacket.
“Here is the deal, Matthew. You fire her. Tonight. You press charges. We show the board you handled a security threat decisively. You come back to work tomorrow, full time.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I leak this file to the press,” Richard said coldly. “And I call the police myself. She goes to prison. You lose your kids. And I take your company.”
Chapter 12: The Choice
The silence in the room was deafening.
Richard stood there, smug and victorious. Olivia stood there, broken, waiting for the handcuffs.
Matthew looked at the file. He looked at the mugshot.
He remembered the blanket fort. He remembered the grilled cheese. He remembered Noah holding her hand. He remembered how she had saved them when he was too busy being “winter.”
He closed the folder.
“Get out, Richard,” Matthew said.
Richard blinked. “Excuse me? Did you not hear me? She is a criminal.”
“She is my family,” Matthew said. His voice was low, vibrating with a dangerous intensity.
“She lied to you!”
“She survived,” Matthew corrected. “She did what she had to do to stay alive. Just like I did after Elena died.”
Matthew walked over to Olivia. He didn’t recoil. He reached out and took her hand. It was cold and shaking.
“Matthew, you can’t,” Olivia whispered. “He’s right. I’ll ruin you.”
“You fixed me,” Matthew said.
He turned to Richard.
“If you leak that file, Richard, I will burn you down. I know about the offshore accounts in the Caymans. I know about the bribes you paid to the zoning commission last year. You think I wasn’t paying attention just because I was grieving? I see everything.”
Richard’s face went pale.
“Mutually assured destruction?” Richard hissed. “You’d destroy your own company to save a maid?”
“I’d burn the company to the ground to save the woman who taught my children how to smile again,” Matthew said. “Try me.”
Richard stared at him. He saw the resolve in Matthew’s eyes. This wasn’t the broken widower of three months ago. This was the Titan of Seattle.
Richard grabbed his briefcase.
“You’re making a mistake, Hayes. The board won’t like this.”
“I am the board,” Matthew said. “Now get off my property.”
Chapter 13: The Real Story
Richard slammed the door as he left.
Olivia collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands.
“I have to go,” she wept. “He won’t stop. He’ll find a way. I can’t let you lose Noah and Grace.”
Matthew sat beside her. He took the file and threw it into the fireplace. The flames licked at the mugshot of Sarah Jenkins.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Matthew said.
“But the police… the warrant…”
“I have the best lawyers in the country,” Matthew said. “Tomorrow, we’re going to hire a criminal defense team. We’re going to find your ex-husband. We’re going to prove he coerced you. We’re going to clear your name.”
“Why?” Olivia asked, looking at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Why would you do that for me?”
Matthew brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“Because you read The Velveteen Rabbit to my kids,” he said softly. “Because you made them Real. And because… I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Olivia gasped.
Before she could answer, a noise came from the hallway.
Noah and Grace were standing there in their pajamas. They had heard the shouting.
“Is the bad man gone?” Grace asked, clutching her teddy bear.
“Yes,” Matthew said, opening his arms. “He’s gone.”
“Is Olivia leaving?” Noah asked, his voice trembling.
Matthew looked at Olivia. She looked at the children, the family she had never thought she could have.
“No,” Olivia said, wiping her tears. “I’m staying. We have a lot of work to do.”
“Good,” Grace said, climbing onto the sofa between them. “Because you promised to make pancakes tomorrow.”
Matthew wrapped his arms around all of them. The outside world was still dangerous. The legal battle would be brutal. Richard would come back.
But as Matthew looked around his living room, warm and full of life, he knew one thing for sure.
His castle wasn’t empty anymore. And he would fight the whole world to keep it that way.
THE END
