The Lost Girl
1133 Words
The study smelled faintly of leather, old books, and something floral—perhaps from the antique vase on the corner desk, where a single white lily stood as stiff and elegant as the woman across from me.
Mrs. Sandra Westbrook sat in her chair, her spine straight, hands folded delicately over her lap, the picture of patience and composure.
“Well,” she said crisply, reaching for a silver bell on the side table. She rang it once. The chime echoed softly through the room. “It’s time Lila met her new nanny.”
New nanny? I got the job? Oh my gosh! It took all the strength in me not to get up and scream in excitement.
Her voice carried an air of formality that made the word nanny sound like a royal appointment.
Moments later, there were footsteps in the hallway—fast, hurried ones. Then the door opened—not with grace, but in a rush—and the housekeeper burst in, breathless, with her apron slightly askew and panic in her eyes.
“Ma’am,” she gasped, hands wringing. “Young Miss Lila—she’s gone.”
Gone.
The word dropped like a stone in my stomach.
Mrs. Westbrook’s face didn’t move at first. For a moment, she was a statue, perfectly composed. Then the c***k appeared—not in her voice, but in the way her fingers clenched together just a little too tightly.
“What do you mean she’s gone, Beth?” she asked slowly, her tone calm but frosted with steel.
“I was just drawing her bath. She was in her playroom. I stepped away for five minutes—five, I swear—and when I came back, she was gone. The back door was open.”
Sandra rose to her feet, a chill rushing through the room. “Check the grounds. The garden. The stables. Everywhere.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper said, already backing out of the room.
I hesitated, my heart pounding. Every part of me screamed do something! This wasn’t just a job anymore—this was a little girl.
“Let me help,” I said, taking a step forward.
Mrs. Westbrook turned to me, her mouth slightly open as if about to object.
“I’ve worked with children. I know how they hide when they’re scared. Please.”
She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t stop me either.
I didn’t wait. I took off down the hallway, my boots echoing against the marble as I followed the housekeeper down toward the back of the house. Doors opened and closed. Staff members began spreading out, calling Lila’s name. I checked closets, behind heavy curtains, beneath the grand staircase. Nothing.
Then the front door opened again.
Damian.
He stepped in, phone in one hand, keys in the other, his sharp gaze flicking up immediately as he took in the tension in the foyer.
“Mother?”
Sandra appeared, her voice strained for the first time. “Thank God. Lila’s missing.”
His entire demeanor changed.
“What?” His voice was cold, clipped. “How long?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. We were about to call the police—”
Before she could finish, the housekeeper reappeared. And this time, she wasn’t alone.
In her arms, she carried a small girl with long, tangled blond curls, wearing a little blue pinafore and muddy socks. Her cheeks were streaked with dirt and dried tears.
“Found her behind the rose hedges,” Beth said breathlessly. “She said she was building a fairy house.”
Sandra rushed forward and took the girl into her arms, smoothing her hair back, and whispering something too quiet for me to hear. Relief flooded her face, but it quickly melted into stern disapproval.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Lila?” she said gently but firmly. “You mustn’t run off like that. You frightened everyone.”
But before Lila could answer, Damian strode forward and scooped her out of his mother’s arms, carrying her toward the sitting room with a face like thunder.
He placed her on the velvet couch and crouched in front of her, not with affection, but with intensity. His jaw was tight, his brows furrowed.
“What were you thinking?” he asked sharply. “Running off like that? Do you have any idea what could’ve happened to you?”
Lila shrank back against the couch cushions. “I—I was just playing.”
“This isn’t a game, Lila!” he snapped. “You can’t just disappear. Do you want to be taken? Hurt? You think it’s fun to scare everyone like that?”
Her lower lip trembled. Her big blue eyes welled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Her voice was so small it almost broke me.
But not him.
Damian’s anger only deepened, frustration seeping into every word. “Sorry doesn’t fix what you did. You need to start listening when you’re told to stay inside. I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”
I couldn’t take it.
Something inside me—some deep maternal instinct I didn’t even know I still had—ignited.
“That’s enough,” I said before I could stop myself.
His head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Excuse me?”
“She’s scared,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm, and steady. “She didn’t mean to frighten anyone. She just wanted to play.”
“This is none of your concern,” he bit out, rising to his full height. “You’re not family. You’re not even officially hired.”
“No,” I said softly, stepping between him and the little girl, “but I’m someone who understands what fear does to a child. And yelling at her won’t teach her anything except to be more afraid.”
His mouth tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.
“Beth,” he barked over my shoulder, “escort Miss Hart out. Now.”
The housekeeper looked at me with sympathy as she approached. I turned to Lila, who was sniffling now, shoulders trembling.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not bad. You’re just curious. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.”
Damian didn’t speak again. He turned away, jaw working, storming toward the hallway like a thundercloud in a designer suit.
And I let Beth lead me out.
But something in my chest wouldn’t stop burning.
Because in that moment, I didn’t care that Damian Westbrook was rich or powerful or handsome.
All I saw was a man who didn’t know how to love his daughter. And maybe… someone who didn’t know how to love at all.
- Writer
