Chapter 3 - The Midnight Fever
The momentum built slowly over the next two weeks. Nora maintains her strict boundary: she was the housekeeper. She did not give orders, she did not enforce arbitrary rules, and she did not try to act like their mother.
Instead, she created subtle structure. She left clean clothes arranged by color in their rooms. She put a chalkboard in the kitchen where they could write what they wanted to eat or do. She brought her child psychology textbooks to work, studying at the kitchen island during her break while the girls did their homeschooling upstairs.
Brooke was the first to start sitting near her, pretending to read her own books while secretly watching Nora write notes. Then came June, who stopped wetting her clothes once Nora quietly placed a soft nightlight in her bedroom without making a scene about it.
However, the delicate peace was shattered on a stormy Tuesday night.
Nora was packing her backpack at 8:00 pm, preparing to take the bus back to National City, when the house's internal intercom buzzed.
"Nora?" Jonathan's voice sounded panicked, stripped of all corporate composure. "Please... come to the second floor. Now."
Nora ran up the wide marble staircase. She found Jonathan standing in the doorway of three-year-old Lena's bedroom. The room was dark, save for a small lamp.
Lena was thrashing on her bed, her skin flushed dark red, whimpering pitifully. Jonathan was sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a wet washcloth, looking entirely helpless.
"Her fever just spiked to 103.8," Jonathan said, his voice cracking. "I called the private family doctor, but his car is stuck in traffic due to the flash flood on the highway. I don't know what to do. The last time a doctor came... it was for Maribel. The girls are disenchanted."
Nora stepped into the room, instantly taking control. She felt Lena's forehead; the heat radiating from the small child was alarming.
"She's going into febrile shivers," Nora said calmly. "We need to bring her temperature down gradually, but not too fast or she'll go into shock. Jonathan, get me a basin of lukewarm water—not cold, lukewarm. And bring me clean cotton pajamas."
Jonathan nodded frantically and rushed out of the room.
Outside in the hallway, the other five girls were huddled together in their pajamas, watching through the open door. Their faces were pale with familiar terror. To them, sickness meant one thing: people leave and never come back.
Hazel stepped into the doorway, holding Lena's broken doll. "Is Lena going to die like Mom?"
Nora looked up from the bed, her eyes steady, fierce, and reassuring. "No, Hazel. She is not going to die. I am right here. I am not leaving this room until her fever drops."
For the next four hours, Nora worked tirelessly. She stripped Lena down, applying lukewarm compresses to her armpits, neck, and thighs. When Lena cried out in distress, desperate to swallow the fever-reducing liquid Jonathan had brought, Nora lifted the little girl into her lap, rocking her back and forth, humming a soft Spanish lullaby her mother used to sing to her.
“Duérmete mi niña, duérmete ya...”
Jonathan stood by the window, watching Nora. Her hair was falling out of her bun, her eyes were tired, but her arms held his daughter with an unconditional, instinctual grace that made his chest ache. He realized in that moment that all his billions, his tech patents, his security teams, and his grand mansion were utterly useless without the one thing Nora brought into this house for free: genuine love.
At 2:00 am, Lena's breathing finally stabilized. Her forehead cooled. She nestled deep into Nora's chest, her tiny hand clutching Nora's thumb, fast asleep.
Nora let out a long, exhausted sigh, resting her head against the wall behind the bed.
Jonathan stepped forward, taking a warm blanket and carefully draping it over both Lena and Nora.
"You can put her down now," Jonathan whispered softly. "You must be exhausted."
Nora opened her eyes, looking up at the billionaire founder. "If I move, she'll wake up. I'll stay right here."
Jonathan sat down on the floor beside the bed, leaning his back against the nightstand. For the first time in six months, he felt the heavy, suffocating weight on his shoulders lighten.
"Why didn't you leave?" Jonathan asked quietly into the dim room. "On the first day. When they threw paint at you. Why did you stay?"
Nora looked down at Lena's sleeping face. "Because when I was fifteen, my sister died in a house fire while I was at school. I spent years screaming at the world, breaking things, hating everyone who tried to tell me it was going to be okay. I recognized that look in your daughters' eyes the second I walked through the door. They aren't bad kids, Jonathan. They're just dismayed that if they stop fighting, they'll forget their mother."
May you like
Jonathan pulled his knees to his chest, wiping away a quiet tear that escaped down his cheek. "I didn't know how to save them," he confessed. "I was drowning too."
"You don't have to save them alone anymore," Nora said softly.
