Victor sat at the head of a dining table large enough to seat twenty, but only one other chair was filled. His son, Elliot, five years old and far too quiet for his age, stirred his oatmeal with half-hearted swirls.

His teddy bear, scruffy and gray from too many washes, sat propped in the chair beside him, a makeshift guest at a table that no one ever visited.

“Eat, Elliot,” Victor said, eyes flicking up from his phone.

A deal with international investors buzzed on the screen, numbers flashing with urgency. Another win. Another fortune. And yet, the boy across from him sat unmoved.

Elliot didn’t lift his spoon. Didn’t even look at him.

“Food gives you energy and your medicines work better if you eat first, son,” Victor added, trying to soften his tone, though it still came out brittle. “You won’t get better if you don’t eat,”

His voice had always carried authority, and it worked in every other corner of his life. But not here. Not with Elliot.

The boy pressed his cheek into his hand, eyelids drooping, a child-sized sigh puffing from his chest. His eyes drifted to the bear as if waiting for it to offer advice.

Victor’s jaw clenched, the weight of helplessness sitting on him like a boulder. Elliot was wasting away in front of him from the same degenerative disease that had taken his mother, and it seemed like nothing he did could prevent the inevitable.

In the past seven months, he’d hired five different caregivers to provide the specialized care Elliot’s nannies couldn’t. All the caregivers had quit. Too demanding, they said. Too controlling.

He called it “standards.” They called it something else.

Victor’s phone chimed. He rose, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. He paused when he reached Elliot’s seat.

“I’ll see you later, Elliot. Eat your breakfast… please.” He gently placed his hand on his son’s head.

“Bye,” Elliot muttered, pulling his bear onto his lap and holding it tight.

Victor clenched his jaw and turned away. He ordered the nanny to ensure Elliot ate and took his medicine, then left for the office.

Rain hammered against the windshield that evening as Victor’s sleek black sedan crawled through a narrow street. The rain blurred the world into streaks of gray and shadow.

Elliot’s nanny had texted him several updates throughout the day: She’d persuaded Elliot to have a meal replacement shake, but he still refused to take his medicine. He really wasn’t doing too well and the nanny had no idea how to get him to cooperate.

Victor needed to find a new caregiver fast. He’d tasked his assistant with calling all the top agencies, but none had any available candidates.

Then, under a crumbling bus shelter close to the intersection, he saw her. A woman, soaked through, arms clutched around a battered green duffle bag, head down as if hiding from the world. Her coat was too thin for weather like this, and the soaked fabric stuck to her like wet paper.

Victor barely noticed her at first. Then his gaze snagged on the duffle bag. It bore a bright blue logo with white letters. “Bright Steps Care Center.”

He pressed the button to roll down his window before his mind could catch up with him.

Rain slashed the side of his face, sharp and cold.

“You,” he called. “What’s your name?”

“Amelia,” she replied, wary.

“You used to work at Bright Steps?”

“Yeah, before everything fell apart. Lost my mom, lost my job… lost everything.” Amelia’s head suddenly jerked up and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who’s asking? And what’s it to you?”

“I’m Victor,” he replied, like his name alone was currency. “I need a caregiver for my son.”

Her eyes flicked to his car, sleek and dry while she stood there, soaked and shivering. “I’m not looking for charity.”

“I’m not offering charity,” Victor said, gaze firm as the rain pelted them both. “I’m offering a job. My son… he needs constant care. You’ll have a room to live in and a good salary. This could be a chance for you to start over.”

Her eyes softened just a fraction. Just enough.

Two weeks later, the house was different. Not quieter (Elliot had always been quiet) but lighter somehow.

Amelia had moved into the spare room down the hall. The woman who’d been drenched in rain now wore clean, fitted sweaters and jeans, her hair no longer a tangled mess. But it wasn’t just her appearance that had changed. It was Elliot.

Victor stood at the edge of the living room, eyes sharp as he watched them.

Amelia kneeled on the carpet beside Elliot, arranging puzzle pieces on the floor. She leaned in, whispering something. Elliot’s eyes lit up and he laughed. Victor blinked. It had been months since Elliot had laughed.

“You’re a miracle worker,” Victor remarked.

Amelia shrugged. “Kids just like me.”

That night, Victor passed Elliot’s room on his way to bed and heard something through the door. A murmur. A voice, soft and soothing. He leaned closer. It wasn’t Elliot.

“Shh, baby bear,” Amelia said gently, her voice a hush in the quiet night. “Don’t worry. I know it’s hard now, but you’ll feel better soon.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed. She shouldn’t be saying things like that. There was no cure for Elliot’s disease, and all the specialists agreed that while a good treatment plan was essential, there was still no way to guarantee any improvement.

As Victor padded down the hall, he began to wonder exactly why Amelia lost her job at the care facility.

Over the following days, Victor heard strange whispering from Elliot’s room every night. More often than not, it was Elliot whispering, his slurred speech making it almost impossible to make out what he was saying.

Victor would stand outside the door, motionless, barely daring to breathe as he listened to his son babbling. Sometimes, his voice would rise and Victor could’ve sworn he called out “Amelia.”

He couldn’t ignore his suspicions about Elliot’s caregiver any longer.

Victor installed a baby monitor in Elliot’s room. That evening, he found himself staring at the baby monitor app on his phone, his thumb hovering over the “live feed” button.

He shouldn’t.

But he did. The camera connected, the image blooming to life. The dim, grainy view of Elliot’s bedroom appeared. The little boy lay still, hugging his pillow tightly.

Then, the movement. A shadow, low to the ground, right beside Elliot’s bed.

Victor’s heart thudded once, heavy and sharp. He zoomed in.

Amelia. She was kneeling beside Elliot’s bed, her hands on his pillow. Her lips moved, soft and deliberate.

He turned up the volume.

“…just trust me, Elliot. We don’t need him.”

His breath stopped. What did she just say?

His fingers hovered over his phone, his pulse sharp and fast in his ears. Should he call her out? Call the police? His mind flickered with indecision until another sound reached him.

Elliot. His small voice was a thin whisper as he slowly and carefully enunciated each word.

“Is it tonight? Will I see Mama?”

The phone nearly slipped from Victor’s hand. His chest went cold.

Elliot’s mom passed away two years ago. The only way he might see her was… He flew from his seat and dashed down the hall.

The door to Elliot’s room flew open with a bang. Victor’s shadow filled the frame, eyes wild with fury.

“What are you doing?” he roared. His voice echoed off the walls, sharp as glass.

Amelia jolted to her feet, eyes wide, hands raised like he’d pulled a weapon.

“He had a nightmare,” she said quickly, glancing at Elliot like she needed him to confirm it. “I was calming him down.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Victor pointed at her, his whole body rigid with rage. “I heard you. ‘We don’t need him’? You said that.”

Her face shifted. Not fear — no, it wasn’t fear. It was something sturdier.

“I was talking about his bear,” she said evenly, not backing down. “It fell in the bathroom earlier and got dirty. I washed it. I told him we didn’t need it right now.”

His eyes darted to Elliot. The boy’s arms were wrapped tight around his pillow, his eyes wide with shock.

“And the part about his mother?” Victor’s voice was hard as iron. “You told him he’d see his mother. What are you filling his head with?”

Not with anger. With something closer to pity.

“He dreams about her,” she said softly. “He told me it’s his favorite dream. I didn’t want to take that from him.”

She circled the bed to stand right in front of Victor. Her eyes locked on his, sharp as a blade. “He barely remembers her, but he misses her fiercely. You’d know that if you were the one coming in each night to soothe his nightmares, and making an effort to understand him.”

“No amount of money can replace a father’s love, Victor,” Amelia continued. “He needs you to be present in his life, not just coordinating his healthcare. How often are you truly here for him?”

Her words hit him harder than any punch. Victor didn’t speak. His eyes darted to Elliot, cheeks pink with sleep, clutching his pillow like it was the only thing that loved him back.

Amelia walked past him, quiet but firm.

“Good night, Victor,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “Maybe you should stay awhile.”

And for once, he did.

Three months later.

Victor braced his hands under Elliot’s arms and lifted him into the air. They were chasing butterflies together on the back lawn. Elliot’s bubbling laughter filled the air.

“You’re getting heavy, bud,” Victor remarked as he set Elliot back down on the grass.

Elliot spread his arms out like wings and ran across the grass after another butterfly.

Victor watched him go, then glanced back to where Amelia was sitting on the patio. She waved at him.

The baby monitor was gone now. Instead of connecting with Elliot through the camera, Victor was there with him. And thanks to Amelia’s carefully planned diet and physical therapy, Elliot was doing better than ever.

Here’s another story: Mia’s thrilled when her unruly son, Jack, returns from a weekend at Grandma’s house as a model of discipline, but his strange transformation leaves her uneasy. Determined to uncover what happened, Mia’s questions lead her to a dangerous revelation.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.