Chapter 1 - THE BASEBALL THAT MISSED MY FACE
The baseball sat in my palm while four boys stared down at me from the second-floor railing.
Evan, the oldest, recovered first.
“That was supposed to hit you.”
Adrian’s expression darkened.
“Evan.”
I held up a hand.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
I tossed the ball gently upward and caught it again.
“If he wanted to hit me, he wouldn’t have warned everyone by yelling first.”
Evan’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Surprise.
Children told you things long before they said them out loud.
I looked at the others.
Caleb was trying not to smile.
Noah clutched a broken toy airplane.
Luke, the youngest, stood barefoot in dinosaur pajamas even though it was almost noon.
I pointed toward the stairs.
“Come down.”
Evan laughed.
“You’re not our boss.”
“Correct.”
“Dad is.”
“Also correct.”
“So why should we?”
“Because I caught your baseball.”
Caleb snorted.
Luke actually giggled.
Evan looked irritated by both reactions.
Five minutes later, all four boys were in the kitchen.
I put the baseball on the table.
“Rule one. You can hate me.”
Adrian, standing near the doorway, raised an eyebrow.
“Rule two. You can tell me you hate me.”
Noah looked interested.
“Can we swear?”
“Depends how creative you are.”
Adrian almost choked on his coffee.
“Rule three. You cannot hurt yourself, each other, employees, or me.”
Evan folded his arms.
“And if we do?”
“Consequences.”
“What kind?”
“We’ll invent them together.”
That confused him.
He had expected punishment.
Kids accustomed to power struggles knew punishment.
Partnership was harder.
For the next twenty minutes, they tested everything.
Luke spilled orange juice deliberately.
Caleb asked whether I could be bought.
Noah kicked my chair.
Evan sat silently, studying me.
Then he asked:
“How much does Dad pay you?”
“Enough.”
“For what?”
“To stay.”
That answer changed the room.
Evan’s jaw tightened.
“They all say that.”
“The other caregivers?”
“They say they won’t leave.”
“And then?”
He looked away.
“They leave.”
His voice had lost the challenge.
For the first time, he sounded eleven.
I glanced at Adrian.
His face became unreadable.
I understood something immediately.
These boys weren’t trying to make adults quit because they hated caregivers.
They were forcing them to leave before attachment could happen.
It was grief disguised as warfare.
I spent the afternoon doing almost nothing that looked professional.
We made grilled cheese.
I let Luke beat me at checkers.
I made Noah clean up the cereal he poured on the floor.
I refused to react when Caleb hid my phone in the freezer.
And when Evan disappeared upstairs, I didn’t chase him.
That bothered him most.
At 8:30, I found him sitting on the floor outside a locked bedroom at the end of the west hallway.
“What room is that?”
“None of your business.”
Fair.
Then I noticed scratches around the lock.
Someone had tried opening it repeatedly.
Evan followed my gaze.
“Dad says we’re never allowed inside.”
“Then why sit here?”
His eyes hardened.
“Because Mom’s things are in there.”
My stomach tightened.
Their mother’s room.
I started to stand.
Then Evan whispered:
“She didn’t die the way Dad says.”
I froze.
“What do you mean?”
He looked directly at me.
“Before she died, Mom told me if anything ever happened to her, I shouldn’t trust anyone in this house.”
May you like
Then he leaned closer.
“Including Dad.”
