Chapter 2 - The Guarded Room
The nanny’s quarters were larger than Cameron’s entire apartment in Queens. It connected directly to Leo’s nursery through a heavy, soundproofed door.
That first night, Leo didn't sleep well. Every two hours, he would wake up with a sharp, gasping cry, his little hands clawing at his sheets. Every time he cried, Cameron was there before the echoes could fade into the marble hallways. She didn't turn on the lights. She just sat on the edge of his bed, offering her hand.
"I'm here, Leo," she murmured in the dark. "The big feelings are just passing through. You're safe."
By the third night, the boy didn't throw things anymore. When he felt the anger rising—the sudden, violent surges that usually ended in broken toys and bruised nannies—he would walk over to Cameron, grab the hem of her new, comfortable linen shirt, and press his forehead against her knee. He was learning to anchor himself to her calmness.
Matteo watched them from the doorways, a silent shadow in his own home. He began staying home from his regular dinners at the Duca family social clubs. The most feared man in Manhattan was spending his evenings sitting on the floor of the nursery, watching his son build towers out of plastic blocks.
May you like
"He hasn't spoken a word since his mother died," Matteo told Cameron one evening, his eyes tracking Leo’s movements. "The doctors said it was selective mutism brought on by trauma. They said he might never speak again."
"He's not mute, Mr. Duca," Cameron said softly, wiping a smear of finger paint from Leo’s cheek. "He's just waiting for someone to listen to the silence."
