The wealthy businessman comes back to his residence and is stunned to discover his recently hired African-American housekeeper and his sole child in the kitchen area…

A silence passed, heavy, honest. Grant walked to the stool by the kitchen island and sat down. The immaculate suit, the expensive watch, none of it mattered now.

He looked at his son, really looked, and noticed the bags under his eyes, the tired way he leaned into Nia’s body like it was a wall that had held him up too many nights. Lucas, he said gently. His son didn’t respond right away.

So Grant tried again. This time, he opened his arms. Lucas hesitated, then moved.

He didn’t run like Grant had imagined weeks ago. He stepped forward slowly, like someone learning to trust again. When he reached his father’s arms, he didn’t throw himself in.

He melted, like he was testing the warmth first, like he needed to know it was real. Grant wrapped his arms around him, squeezing tight. I’m sorry, buddy.

I didn’t know how lonely you were. Lucas whispered, Don’t make her leave. Grant looked at Nia.

Her eyes filled again, but she didn’t wipe the tears. She stood rooted, her fingers twisting the apron fabric at her side. I don’t want her to leave, either, Grant said softly.

Nia’s lips parted, stunned. Sir, please, stay, he said, not just as the maid, but as someone who cares about him. Maybe, maybe as someone who can help me learn how.

Her expression shifted, cautious, confused, then slowly warm. I don’t want to cross any lines, she said quietly. Cross them, Grant replied, if that’s what it takes for him to feel safe again.

The pot on the stove bubbled. The burned rice still clung to the bottom, forgotten, but nobody moved to fix it. The food didn’t matter.

Grant reached for the teddy bear from the suitcase and handed it to Lucas. I brought this for you, but I should have brought myself sooner. Lucas didn’t let go of him, and for the first time in weeks, he didn’t cry…