Ella’s voice was warm, reassuring. “I can take care of him.”
Carmen studied the woman sitting across from her, hands neatly folded in her lap. Eleanor Moreau. In her fifties, but with a grace that made her seem timeless. Her soft brown eyes held a quiet wisdom, and her gentle, motherly smile radiated warmth. Silver-threaded hair, tied into a low bun, framed her face with an effortless elegance. She wore a simple yet refined blouse paired with a flowing pleated skirt that swayed as she moved, exuding a calm composure that put anyone at ease. There was something familiar about her, like the kind of comfort one finds in an old, beloved family photo.
She looked safe. She looked right.
Carmen glanced at the impressive résumé in her hands—thirty years of childcare experience, glowing recommendations from high-profile families, she even worked in early childhood trauma therapy.
“You come highly recommended,” Carmen said carefully.
Ella nodded. “I understand how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Venetti. Letting someone else step in when your child is in pain…” She sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not an easy decision.”
Carmen exhaled, rubbing her temples. “No, it’s not.”
From the other side of the room, Matteo sat curled in his little chair, hugging his stuffed bear against his chest. He hadn’t spoken much all morning, his wide eyes watching everything, but saying nothing.
Marco, sitting beside Carmen, was silent. Watching. Unmoving.
“Tell me, how does Matteo spend his days?” Ella asked, her tone gentle, patient.
Carmen hesitated, unsure where to begin. Before the shooting, everything had been normal. Matteo had been a bright, happy child. Laughing. Playing. Running through the halls.
Now?
He barely spoke. He barely ate. He wouldn’t sleep alone.
Marco tried. God, he tried, but every time he reached for Matteo, the little boy would flinch, turning away.
It broke Marco in ways he refused to show.
“He’s not himself anymore,” Carmen admitted. “He wakes up crying. He’s scared all the time. He won’t even let Marco—”
Her voice caught.
Ella nodded sympathetically. “It’s normal for children to react this way after trauma. He needs patience, stability, and—most importantly—someone who understands what he’s feeling.”
“And you do?” Marco’s voice was sharp, his first words since the interview began.
Ella met his intense gaze without flinching. “I do.”
Marco leaned back, arms crossed. Assessing her. Doubting her.
“I’ve worked with many children who’ve experienced loss, violence, and fear,” Ella continued smoothly. “Sometimes, they just need a gentle hand to guide them back to the world.”
Carmen swallowed.
“And how do you plan to do that?” Marco asked, his tone borderline cold.
“By making him feel safe again.” Ella’s smile was calm, unwavering.
Marco’s expression didn’t change, but Carmen felt his tension. He didn’t trust her. He wouldn’t trust anyone with Matteo.
And yet—
“Would it be alright if I spoke to Matteo alone?” Ella asked softly. Carmen hesitated, then turned to her son.
“Baby, do you want to talk to Miss Ella for a little while?”
Matteo fidgeted, his little fingers tightening around his bear. For a long, agonizing moment, he said nothing.
Then—
He gave the smallest nod. Carmen’s breath hitched. She hadn’t expected that. Matteo wouldn’t even let his own father near him, but somehow, in the span of twenty minutes, he was willing to be alone with this stranger?
Marco’s gaze snapped to Carmen, his expression dark, unreadable. “We’ll be right outside,” Carmen reassured, standing.
Ella smiled. “Take your time.”
Marco stood slowly, his entire body tense, as if he didn’t want to leave. But eventually, they stepped out, leaving Matteo alone with Ella.
Marco leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.
Carmen sighed. “I know, but honey, she might be exactly what we’re looking for. ”
“He doesn’t talk to me, but he’ll sit alone with a stranger?”
“Marco—”
“That doesn’t seem wrong to you?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Carmen exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore.”
Marco turned toward the door, his entire body coiled with tension. “She seems perfect,” Carmen admitted. “And maybe that’s what’s scaring me the most.”
Ella knelt beside Matteo, watching him carefully.
He was still clutching his stuffed bear, his little knuckles white from squeezing too hard. “What’s your bear’s name?” she asked gently.
Matteo hesitated. Then, in a soft whisper—
“Leo.”
Ella smiled. “That’s such a sweet name. Does Leo protect you?”
Matteo nodded slowly. “That’s good. I think everyone needs someone to protect them.” Ella’s voice was soothing, comforting. Matteo looked up at her with cautious eyes.
Ella leaned in just a little closer, lowering her voice.
“You don’t have to be scared anymore, sweetheart.”
Matteo’s lip quivered.
“I’ll always be here.”
Matteo sniffled, wiping at his eyes.
Ella reached out, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. Her smile was soft, warm, motherly. But the moment Carmen and Marco stepped out of sight…
That smile dropped. Her eyes darkened. And as she watched Matteo clutch Leo tighter, her lips curved just slightly.