CHAPTER |9
1416 Words
Amarahh’s POV
Morning moved slowly after the children left for school.
The house felt larger whenever Liam and Ava were away. Their voices usually filled the hallways even when they were quiet children. Without them, everything became controlled again. Plates moved carefully, doors closed softly even footsteps sounded planned.
I stayed in the kitchen because sitting alone with my thoughts had become dangerous lately.
The chef did not send me away this time he only looked at me, then pointed at a basket of vegetables.
"If you are staying here, slice those."
I tied the apron tighter around my waist. "You trust me now?"
He gave a short laugh. "After yesterday's soup, yes."
One of the kitchen assistants smiled. "We finally saw Miss Ava finish a bowl."
That still surprised them. I sat near the counter and began cutting carefully.
The kitchen smelled warm pots and the assistants moved between shelves and the stove while the chef checked ingredients for dinner.
For a while, nobody spoke much, then one of the assistants, Grace, lowered her voice.
"You survived one week already, that means something."
I looked up. "What does that mean?"
She exchanged a glance with the chef and the chef answered first.
"It means the children like you enough not to chase you away."
I smiled faintly. "They are not difficult all the time."
Grace laughed. "That means you are lucky. The first nanny I saw here cried before her third day."
I paused with the knife. "Because of the children?"
Grace shook her head slowly. "Because of the house."
The chef spoke while stirring a pot. "This family changed after Madam died."
Everyone became quieter immediately, even the sound of the spoon against the pot slowed.
I kept listening.
The chef continued, his voice lower now. "Before that, the house was different."
"How?" I asked.
"Less tense," Grace said.
"Mr. Aiden laughed more," another assistant added from behind me.
I looked down at the vegetables again. It was hard to imagine the chef leaning against the counter. "Now he is strict, very strict but not wicked."
Grace nodded. "He notices everything."
"I have noticed that too," I said quietly.
The chef almost smiled. "He was not always like that. This cold business pressure made it worse. His wife dying finished the rest."
Nobody spoke for a second, then Grace asked softly, "Did he speak harshly to you yesterday?"
I looked at her and apparently nothing stayed hidden in this house.
I gave a careful answer. "He was upset."
The chef made a short sound. "That means yes."
I said nothing because what exactly would I explain? That he had threatened to feed my brains to birds? That I had answered him like I had forgotten he paid my salary?
The kitchen assistant beside me lowered her voice. "Do not take everything personally here. Sometimes he speaks from built up pressure."
The chef nodded. "Especially these days. Hayden Group has been giving him trouble."
I had heard that name twice already in this house. The chef continued, "Legal matters."
"Big one?" I asked.
He nodded. "Enough for lawyers to call all night."
That explained his face this morning.
And maybe the guilt I thought I noticed when he refused to look directly at me during breakfast.
I continued slicing vegetables, but my thoughts had already gone elsewhere. At home with my mother, the quiet of the kitchen suddenly made my chest tighten.
I wondered if she was missing me already. She would worry because I had never stayed away this long without sending word.
And there was still Casper.
That thought made my hands slow. I hoped he had stopped coming around the neighborhood but men like him rarely stopped because people asked politely.
I remembered his voice too clearly, his threats, his anger when I refused him the way neighbors avoided speaking when he stood outside our compound.
I swallowed and forced myself back into the present. No one here knew that the name I gave them was only half my truth. No one here knew why leaving Alaocha had happened so suddenly.
No one here knew that every knock at the gate still made me nervous inside.
Grace touched my elbow lightly. "You cut that one too thin."
I blinked and looked down. "Sorry."
She smiled. "You drifted away."
I forced a smile back. "Just thinking."
The afternoon came with school car horns outside. That sound changed the whole house immediately.
I removed the apron and went toward the front hall just as Marcus opened the door.
Liam entered first, a schoolbag hanging badly from one shoulder. Ava followed more slowly, looking tired. The moment Liam saw me, he brightened.
"You are here."
"I work here," I reminded him.
He ignored that and handed me his bag. Ava handed hers too, without a word.
"Come," I said. "Let's get you both changed."
Upstairs, Liam talked almost without pause while I helped him out of his school uniform.
"My teacher said my project is better than Noah's."
"That sounds important."
"It is important because Noah always thinks he wins."
Ava had already changed into a soft night wear and dropped onto her bed.
I glanced at her. "Tired?"
She nodded once.
Liam continued. "And dad came today."
"I know."
"My friends saw his car."
He sounded proud and that made me smile. "Did that make you happy?"
He shrugged, but his grin answered before words did. I helped fold his uniform.
"What about lunch?"
"It was bad."
"Everything cannot be bad."
"It was beans."
I laughed softly.
Ava was already asleep before I finished with Liam's buttons. Her breathing had deepened.
Liam looked at his sister. "She slept in class too."
"Maybe she is tired."
He lowered his voice automatically. "My tutor is coming today."
"I know."
He sighed heavily like private tutoring was punishment.
When his tutor arrived an hour later, Liam dragged himself downstairs with books under his arm.
That left the room quiet again. I stayed beside Ava for a while, watching her sleep.
Children looked so different asleep, all stubbornness disappeared, all hidden sadness too. After nearly forty minutes, she stirred, then opened her eyes slowly.
She blinked at me.
"Hungry."
I smiled. "That was your first word after sleep?"
She sat up. "Very hungry."
"What do you want?"
"Anything warm."
I stood immediately. "Come downstairs when you wash your face."
By the time she reached the kitchen, I had already started preparing something simple.
The chef watched but did not interrupt.
He only said, "You have become our unofficial child negotiator."
Ava sat on one of the lower stools. "I heard that."
The chef raised both hands. "And it is true."
She looked at the pan. "What is that?"
"Egg and bread first," I answered.
"Then fruit."
She made a face but accepted it and the kitchen assistants smiled quietly while working.
Ava preferred sitting on the floor instead of the stool halfway through eating. She slid down with her plate, crossing her legs carelessly.
I noticed but said nothing because at least she was eating.
Marcus entered carrying fresh mail and he looked down. "Miss Ava, table."
She ignored him. Marcus sighed like this was normal. I turned back briefly to rinse a spoon.
Then I heard a strange sharp cough and I spun around.
Ava's hand had gone to her throat, her plate tipped sideways. At first, I thought she only swallowed badly.
Then she coughed harder and her face changed.
"Ava?"
She tried to breathe but nothing came properly. The plate fell fully fallen now.
Marcus dropped the letters. "Miss Ava!"
I rushed to her immediately and her eyes widened in fear. She clawed at her throat and her skin was turning red too fast.
My hands shook." Ava, breathe."
She couldn't answer. Marcus knelt beside us instantly.
"What did she eat?"
"Egg…bread—"
Then he looked at the fruit bowl and his face changed completely. "Did she eat peanuts?"
The kitchen froze, and the chef turned sharply.
My heart dropped. "What?"
Marcus grabbed the bowl and stared. "There are crushed peanuts here."
The chef cursed under his breath. "That garnish was for another plate."
Marcus looked at me, panic now clear even on his controlled face. "She is allergic."
For one second, my body stopped working because Ava's coughing became worse.
Her face was red, and her breathing sounded wrong. And all I could think was
No, no, not here, not in my hands.
- Writer
