The front door creaked open before Grant Ellison even stepped inside. His polished shoes clicked against the tiled floor of his private foyer, and the wheels of his sleek black suitcase trailed softly behind him. He looked every bit the successful millionaire tailored white suit, violet dress shirt, and a designer watch that glittered under the hallway light.

 Grant had just closed milliondoll deals across Europe. Yet nothing about his polished appearance prepared him for what he was about to face inside his own home. He wasn’t supposed to return until Friday. This was a surprise visit, the kind that would light up his little boy’s face and make up for lost time.

 It had been for long weeks since he’d last seen Lucas. A quiet smile tugged at his lips as he reached down and touched the small teddy bear tied to his suitcase handle Lucas’s favorite. He imagined the boy running toward him, laughter spilling out, arms wide open. But as Grant stepped into the kitchen doorway, that happy vision shattered.

 At the sink stood a woman he didn’t recognize. She was young, black, and wore a gray apron. Tied around her waist over a dark blouse. Her head was lowered, shoulders trembling as she cried not softly, not discreetly, but with a grief that shook her entire body. Wrapped tightly around her, legs locked around her waist and arms clutching desperately, was Lucas.

 His face was buried in her shoulder, red from crying as if she were the only safe place left in the world. He wasn’t just hugging her. He was holding on for dear life. Grant froze. “Lucas,” he called out. Neither of them turned. His voice came sharper now. Lucas the woman jumped her head snapping around tear streaked cheeks wide frightened eyes looked at him as though she’d been caught stealing.

 Lucas finally turned to his lips quivering before he wailed. No, don’t take her. Please, Daddy, don’t take her away. The words hit Grant like a stone to the chest. I I’m sorry, sir. The woman stammered. He won’t let go. Grant stepped forward, stunned. What is going on here? Who are you? I’m Nia. Nia Monroe, she explained quickly, trying to lower Lucas to the floor, though the boy clung tighter.

 The agency sent me last month after Ms. Rena quit. We spoke on the phone twice. Grant blinked, trying to recall. Yes, her voice had been soft, professional. He’d approved her without much thought. He’d been too busy with work. “Please, Daddy,” Lucas sobbed, still clinging. “Don’t send her away. She didn’t do anything wrong.

 Send her away,” Grant repeated bewildered. “I burned the rice,” Nia whispered bitterly. “That’s why I was crying, but not because of you. Because Lucas told me he wished I was his mommy.” Her voice cracked on the last word. Grant’s chest tightened. I never asked for that, she continued, her tone trembling but firm. I didn’t try to take anyone’s place, but he had nightmares.

 Every night he called for someone, anyone. And there was no one but me. So I sang to him, held him, stayed by his side. He needed someone. Grant’s stomach churned. He remembered a text from Reena about Lucas screaming at night. He’d dismissed it as a phase, something temporary. But this wasn’t a phase.

 His son had been suffering, and strangers had filled the silence. “She helps me breathe, Daddy,” Lucas whispered. Through sobs, Nia turned her face away, steadying herself. I didn’t realize how deep I was in until he said those words. The silence in the room was heavy. Grant, a man who conquered boardrooms and executives, stood utterly speechless in his own kitchen.

 His son, the center of his world, was clinging to a maid he barely knew. And she, this stranger, looked more heartbroken than anyone he had ever seen. I thought I was doing the right thing, Grant muttered under his breath. Working, building a future for him. Money doesn’t sing to a child at night, Nia said softly.

 Or hold their hand after a nightmare. Lucas slid slightly down, but still pressed against her side, his small hands gripping her apron like she was an anchor. Grant’s voice cracked. And what are you to him now? Nia met his gaze. Safe. The word struck harder than anything else. The kitchen smelled faintly of burned rice, the pot hissing quietly on the stove.

But all Grant felt was guilt pressing on his chest. His carefully imagined homecoming had crumbled. No warm reunion, no triumphant return, just a sobbing child, a broken maid, and the heavy truth of absence. “You said,” he cried at night, Grant whispered. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Nia gave him a sharp look.

 “Who would have listened, sir?” “You were in Geneva or Dubai or wherever people go when they don’t want to face what’s at home?” Lucas flinched slightly. Nia immediately placed a gentle hand on his head. “It’s okay, baby. No one’s mad at you. I’m not mad,” Grant said quickly. “Then show him,” Nia shot back, her voice firm.

“He’s only four. He can’t read between the lines.” “All he knows is that you leave and you come back with bears instead of hugs.” Grant blinked, stunned. She wasn’t shaming him. She was protecting Lucas fiercely, as if he were her own blood. I worked 18our days for 4 weeks straight, Grant admitted quietly. I thought if I secured that deal, it would pay for his future college, a life without limits.

 But he doesn’t understand college, Mr. Ellison, Nia said gently. He just wants pancakes on Saturday mornings. Someone to clap when he jumps off the couch. Lucas looked up at his father now, eyes swollen with tears. Uncertain. Didn’t know, Grant said softly. You didn’t ask, Nia replied. Grant slowly lowered his suitcase to the ground.

 His expensive suit, his shining watch, none of it mattered. What mattered was standing right in front of him. His son looked exhausted, leaning into Nia as if she were the only solid wall he had. “Lucas,” Grant said gently. The boy didn’t respond at first, so Grant opened his arms. Slowly, cautiously, Lucas stepped forward.

 He didn’t run like Grant had imagined. He moved hesitantly, as though testing if his father’s warmth was real. When he finally reached him, he melted into his embrace, fragile and uncertain. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Grant whispered. “I didn’t know how lonely you were.” Lucas’s tiny voice trembled. “Don’t make her leave.

” Grant met Nia’s eyes. Tears welled there, though she didn’t wipe them away. I don’t want her to leave either, Grant said softly. Stain just as the maid, but as someone who cares for him. Maybe as someone who can help me learn how her expression shifted from shock to something warmer. I don’t want to cross any lines. Cross them, Grant answered.

 If that’s what it takes for him to feel safe again. The pot on the stove bubbled over, forgotten. Grant reached for the teddy bear on his suitcase and handed it to Lucas. I brought this for you, but I should have brought myself sooner. Lucas held both the bear and his father, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t cry that night.

 After Lucas fell asleep in his father’s lap, Grant found Nia in the kitchen cleaning the stove. “I know this isn’t the job you expected,” he said quietly. “It’s not,” she admitted. “But it’s the job I needed. If you ever want something more, school, training, anything, you’ll have my support,” Grant promised.

 “Just don’t stop being who you were for him today.” I won’t, she said softly. I couldn’t if I tried. As he turned to leave, Grant paused. Nia, thank you for saving my son. She didn’t answer with words. She just nodded once, placing a fresh pot of rice on the stove. This time careful not to burn