Chapter One: The Return
1859 Words
Seven years had passed since the funeral, but sometimes the house still felt stuck in that winter. The walls were quiet, the halls too still, and the lingering emptiness seemed woven into the very air. But today wasn’t quiet. Today, footsteps echoed through the corridor as Angela opened the door and announced the arrival of the one person Marlon secretly hoped he wouldn’t have to see so soon but he had to.
Desiree.
She swept into the living room with her usual confidence heels clicking, perfume loud, smile polished but empty around the edges. Behind her lagged the children, older now, taller, shaped by time and loss in different ways.
Carlton, fifteen, carried himself with a sense of duty far too heavy for his age. His shoulders were squared, chin high, as though he was the official guardian of his siblings instead of just their brother.
Millicent, thirteen, was stiff as a plank. The second she saw Desiree walk deeper into the house, her eyes hardened like shutters slamming shut.
Destiny, ten now, stood quietly behind them, folding his hands. He didn’t speak to Desiree. To anyone, really. Only a few words when necessary“yes,” “no,” or “I’m hungry.” Trauma had molded silence into his safe place.
“Marlon,” Desiree greeted, her voice syrupy sweet.
“Desiree.” He nodded shortly. “They behaved?”
“Perfectly,” she lied without blinking.
Millicent made an irritated sound under her breath. Carlton nudged her sharply.
Marlon didn’t notice or pretended he didn’t. He looked tired. Not in a sloppy way Marlon Ford was always composed but in the kind of way that made it clear life had carved a permanent heaviness into him.
The children dropped their bags. The room shifted.
“So…” Desiree clasped her hands together. “I need to talk to you. It’s pretty important.”
Angela, standing by the dining archway, narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like Desiree, though she rarely said a word.
Marlon sighed. “What is it?”
Desiree lifted her chin, performing seriousness. “I’ve gotten a new job an amazing job, actually. It pays better and gives me more opportunities. But… it requires a lot of traveling.”
Marlon frowned. “Traveling? How much?”
“A lot,” she repeated loosely. “Like… most of the month.”
Millicent scoffed. Loud. On purpose.
Desiree ignored her.
“So,” Desiree continued, smiling like she was presenting a solution to a problem he didn’t have, “I won’t be able to help with the kids anymore. Taking them on breaks, school pickups, holidays none of it.”
Marlon nodded slowly. “Okay. I understand.”
Desiree smiled wider. “And because of that, I think you should hire a nanny.”
Angela lifted her head sharply.
“A nanny?” Marlon repeated. “Desiree, we don’t need one. Angela is here.”
Desiree laughed like he had said something cute and stupid. “Angela is the head maid and almost 65. She oversees the house, not the children.”
Angela’s brows shot up, offended.
“Angela raised my wife,” Marlon reminded her calmly. “She raised half the people in this family. She can manage the kids just fine.”
“Oversee,” Desiree corrected, soft but firm. “Not raise. These are teenagers now, Marlon. Carlton is fifteen. Milly is… well, Milly.” She shot a thin smile at the girl, who rolled her eyes dramatically. “Destiny needs attention. You can’t do that alone. And Angela has a house to run.”
“No nanny,” Marlon repeated. “Not necessary.”
Desiree pressed her lips together, frustration creeping in. “You can’t do everything yourself, Marlon.”
“I’ve been doing everything myself.”
“Well… it shows.”
The room froze. Carlton inhaled sharply. Millicent’s fingers curled into fists.
Marlon’s eyes darkened, but he stayed composed. “Desiree, thank you for dropping them off. Angela will see you out.”
“No, I’m not done.”
“You are.”
Her jaw tightened. But Desiree Hiller hated leaving without getting her way.
She tried again. Softer. “Marlon… you need help. I know you think you’re holding everything together, but the kids ”
“The kids are fine,” he cut in.
Desiree’s gaze flicked toward them.
Carlton stood stiffly, respectful but detached.
Milly glared like she wanted to throw her shoe at her aunt.
Destiny stared at the floor, expression blank.
Desiree folded her arms. “They need stability. Consistency. Someone trained. A professional nanny.”
Millicent suddenly snapped, “We don’t need her. We’re fine.”
“Millicent,” Marlon warned.
“No! She’s pretending!” Milly shot back. “She doesn’t care. She didn’t take care of us then, she won’t now.”
“Milly!” Carlton hissed, eyes wide. “Stop.”
Desiree sighed dramatically. “Here we go again.”
The memory hit Millicent like a punch every time she saw Desiree laugh, lie, or pretend to care.
She remembered the night clearly.
Carl was ten. She was eight. Destiny was five.
It was supposed to be a simple evening. Desiree was babysitting while Angela visited her sister who just had a baby. Their dad was away on a business meeting that he had delayed because Destiny was ill. She told them dinner would be ready by seven.
Seven passed.
Eight passed.
They got hungry. Destiny kept asking for food, rubbing his stomach.
Desiree came home at eleven stumbling, giggling, leaning against a man whose shirt was half unbuttoned. They didn’t even go to the kitchen. They went straight to the guestroom downstairs. Milly heard the door slam. Heard voices. Heard Desiree’s laugh, a loud, careless, ugly sound.
Destiny cried that night.
And cried.
And cried.
He was hot. Too hot.
He kept asking, “Where’s Aunt Desi?”
Carl tried to wet his forehead with cold water.
Milly tried to find food. There was nothing cooked.
In the morning, Destiny threw up. Twice.
When Desiree finally came out around noon, hair messy, eyes red, she gasped dramatically when she saw him sick.
“Oh my God, what happened?!”
Carl tried to explain.
Desiree cut him off quickly.
“You’re lying! I fed you all! He must’ve refused to eat!”
Milly had never wanted to hit someone more.
Later that week, she tried telling Marlon. But the story sounded insane. Desiree? Drunk? With a random man? Forgetting to feed them?
Desiree cried when confronted.
Full tears.
“I would never do that to them, Marlon. They’re like my own children!”
Milly’s voice had trembled, “But she—she didn’t feed—Destiny was sick—she—she—”
Marlon looked torn, confused, exhausted. Grief still ruled him then; he was barely functioning.
“Milly… sweetheart… are you sure you didn’t imagine parts of it? You were eight.”
Desiree had wrapped an arm around Milly.
“Trauma can confuse the mind, darling. You miss your mother. You may be mixing things up.”
Millicent never forgave her.
Not for lying.
Not for manipulating.
Not for smiling while Destiny suffered.
Desiree looked at Milly now with that same fake smile.
“Milly, darling, what did I ever do for you to hate me like this?”
“You exist.” Milly snapped.
Carlton groaned. Destiny looked between them anxiously.
“Milly,” Marlon warned again. “That’s enough.”
“No,” Milly shook her head. “I’m not pretending anymore. I don’t like her. I don’t want her here. And we don’t need a nanny.”
Desiree sighed, putting a hand dramatically to her chest. “She always exaggerates everything. Teenagers.”
Marlon ran a hand down his face. “Desiree, thanks for your opinion. But the answer is still no.”
Desiree went quiet for a moment… too quiet.
Then she stepped closer to him. “Marlon… you can’t keep isolating yourself. You need help.”
He didn’t answer.
“Angela is old.”
“She is capable.”
“You’re overwhelmed.”
“I manage.”
“You’re lonely.”
He froze.
The room pulsed.
Millicent looked disgusted. Carlton looked angry. Destiny looked scared.
Desiree realized she’d hit something tender and smirked faintly. “Think about the nanny.”
She walked toward the door.
Angela followed to escort her out.
Before crossing the threshold, Desiree turned back and mouthed silently to Milly:
Liar.
Millicent bristled, lunging forward, but Carlton grabbed her arm.
The door closed.
Silence thudded into place.
Angela returned, muttering, “Lord deliver us,” under her breath.
Marlon sank into a seat. Carlton stood stiffly beside him. Millicent dropped onto the opposite couch, arms folded stubbornly. Destiny sat on the floor, back against the sofa, quietly tracing patterns on his sleeve.
Marlon finally spoke, voice low. “I know you don’t like your aunt, Milly. But that attitude isn’t helping.”
“She’s lying,” Millicent whispered. “Again.”
“Milly…”
“You didn’t believe me then,” she said bitterly. “I don’t expect you to now.”
That hit harder than she intended.
Marlon’s expression faltered—guilt flashing behind his eyes.
“I believe you now,” he said quietly.
Millicent looked up sharply.
Marlon continued, “I didn’t understand before… but I do now.”
Millicent swallowed, caught off guard by the rare honesty. She looked away quickly, blinking too fast.
Carlton rested a hand on her shoulder.
Destiny, hearing the tension fade, crawled closer to his siblings.
Angela clapped her hands gently. “Everyone, upstairs. Let your father rest.”
The kids obeyed.
Marlon remained seated, staring at the table… at nothing… at everything.
He remembered how Desiree used to show up uninvited after Marissa died, insisting on helping. He should’ve noticed the red flags—her strange overprotectiveness of Carlton, her irritation when Milly asked too many questions, her coldness toward Destiny.
Back then, he was too broken to see it.
Now, he saw everything.
Maybe too late.
When the house grew quiet, Marlon leaned back and exhaled slowly.
A nanny?
A stranger…
Another human being brought into his world, his children’s world.
He felt dread curl in his stomach.
He didn’t want anyone close. Not inside his routine. Not near his pain. Not near his children. Losing Marissa had made him terrified of attachments.
People left.
People died.
People disappointed.
He couldn’t open that door again.
The thought of trusting someone new felt like standing at the edge of a cliff with no railing.
But as he sat there alone, in the silence of a big house that never felt like home anymore, another thought pressed on him.
What if he was failing them?
What if Desiree was right about needing help?
What if isolating himself was hurting the kids?
The fear of letting someone in…
Suddenly warred with the fear of letting his children down.
Upstairs, Millicent slammed her bedroom door.
Downstairs, Marlon closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time.
He wasn’t sure which fear would win.
- Writer
