Chapter 2 - The Rules of the House
The sun rose over Manhattan like a smear of cold grease on a dirty window.
Daniel didn't sleep. He sat at his glass-topped desk in the home office, staring at a spreadsheet for a real estate acquisition that he couldn't focus on. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard Maisie and Rosie’s laughter ringing off the nursery walls—a sound that felt like warm sunlight breaking through ice, yet terrified him because it meant things were changing.
At 7:30 A.M., the door to the office clicked open.
Elise stood in the doorway holding a steaming mug of black coffee and a small ceramic plate with two pieces of toast. She had changed into a sensible gray sweater and dark trousers, her hair pulled back into a neat, practical bun.
“You missed dinner last night, and you missed breakfast,” she said, walking over and placing the mug and plate on the corner of his overflowing desk without asking permission.
Daniel stared up at her, his expression a mask of cold authority. “I didn't hire a nutritionist, Ms. Navarro. I hired a night nurse.”
“Night nurses sleep during the day, Mr. Carter. But since I’m awake, and since I refuse to work in a house where the patriarch collapses from starvation and caffeine poisoning before his daughters turn two, I made toast. Eat it or don't. But don't look at me like I’m trespassing.”
Daniel stared at the toast. Then he looked up at Elise. A strange, unfamiliar twitch tugged at the corner of his mouth—almost a smirk, though he forced it down instantly.
“You have a remarkable amount of nerve for someone who was playing puppet theater on the floor at two in the morning,” he remarked coldly.
“It’s called sleep psychology, Mr. Carter. Look it up. Laughter lowers cortisol levels in infants experiencing separation anxiety,” she countered smoothly, turning toward the door. “By the way, your brother Greg called while you were brooding in the dark. He’s coming over for dinner tonight at seven. I checked the fridge; you have nothing except three bottles of vintage scotch and a moldy lemon. I’m going grocery shopping with the girls at ten. Do you need anything specific, or should I just buy food that doesn't resemble a crime scene?”
Daniel’s jaw tightened. “Greg is coming tonight?”
“Yes. He seemed surprised that you hadn't told him. Though judging by how much you talk to people, you probably forgot to tell him you had kids, too.”
Before Daniel could formulate a sufficiently freezing retort, Elise slipped out of the office and clicked the door shut behind her.
He sat there for a long moment, staring at the steaming mug of coffee. Slowly, he reached out, picked up a piece of toast, and took a bite. It was warm, perfectly buttered, and tasted infuriatingly good.
Later that morning, as Daniel walked down the hall toward the kitchen, he heard the faint, melodic sound of a music box playing Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star mixed with the sound of cheerful rattling toys. Peering into the living room, he saw Elise sitting on the massive Persian rug with Maisie and Rosie crawling all over her lap.
She wasn't wearing the yellow gloves now. She was singing—a soft, slightly raspy alto voice that filled the high-ceilinged room with warmth.
Rosie grabbed a handful of Elise’s hair, pulling hard.
Elise didn't scold her. She just gently uncurled the baby's tiny fingers, kissed her knuckles, and said, “Ah, architectural design is a very aggressive career choice, Rosie, but Mommy—er, Elise agrees your point is well taken.”
Daniel froze by the doorway. Mommy.
The word hung in the air like a ghost. Elise caught herself instantly, her eyes widening slightly as she looked over toward the hall and spotted Daniel standing there like a statue. A faint flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks pink.
“I misspoke,” Elise said quickly, her voice dropping a register.
Daniel didn't answer. He turned around, walked back into his study, and locked the door. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a caged animal. Nobody was allowed to use that word in this apartment. Rebecca’s shadow was supposed to be the only mother these walls would ever know.
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Yet, as he sat alone in the dark silence of his office, the thought of Elise calling them her girls didn't make him angry anymore.
It made him terrified.
