Days turned into weeks.
Lila settled in quietly. She woke at dawn to make Mr. Hayes’s tea just the way he liked it—strong, with a splash of milk. She helped him dress, wheeled him into the garden when the weather allowed, and listened patiently to his long-winded stories about books, philosophy, and his son’s childhood.
Alexander noticed something strange happening: his father was laughing again. Asking for books. Even teasing the house staff.
“You’ve got some kind of magic, Lila,” Alexander remarked one evening as they stood in the hallway.
She shrugged. “Sometimes people just need someone to look them in the eye and see them. Not their disability. Not their past.”
