The hospital waiting room smelled of floor wax and old linoleum—a sterile, unforgiving scent that felt entirely out of place for a child who should have been smelling of baby powder and sweet milk.

Talia stared at Adrian as though he had spoken in a foreign language. The diner around them seemed to hold its breath; even the short-order cook stopped rattling his spatula against the grill.

"Home?" Talia repeated, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. "Mr. Wescott, you fired me. You told me I crossed a line. You threatened to have security drag me off the property."

"I know," Adrian said, his voice breaking slightly. He reached out, his hand hovering for a second before resting gently on the edge of the counter, palms open and defenseless. "I was blind, Talia. My grief made me a monster, and my pride made me deaf. If you hadn't bathed Milo in that sink, if you hadn't tried to wash the residue from his skin... my son would not be alive today."

Talia looked away, her gaze dropping to her coffee mug. A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching the diner's fluorescent light before falling into the dark liquid.

"I tried to tell you," she murmured, the pain of that afternoon still fresh in her voice. "I saw Maren in the nursery corridor ten minutes before. She looked... different. Guilty. When I checked Milo’s bottle, it smelled wrong. Chemical. I didn't know what else to do. I just wanted to save him."

"You did save him," Adrian said firmly. He stood up, towering over her, but his posture was entirely devoid of arrogance. It was the posture of a man asking for mercy. "Maren has been arrested. Her confession is on record. The police found the poison in her safe. You were right about everything, Talia."

Talia slowly turned her head back to look at him. She searched his face for any trace of the cold, arrogant executive who had humiliated her in the foyer just a day ago. She found none. There was only a deeply tired father who had stared into the abyss and realized how close he had come to losing everything.

"I can't just walk back in there as if nothing happened," Talia said softly. "The house... it feels heavy, Mr. Wescott. Even without her."

"I know," Adrian replied. "And I don't expect things to go back to normal overnight. But I need someone in that house who actually cares about my son more than protocols and schedules. I need someone I can trust. Please, Talia. Come back. Name your terms. Anything you want."

Talia looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, slowly, a faint, weary sigh escaped her lips. She reached up and wiped the tear from her cheek.

"I don't want a raise, Mr. Wescott," she said quietly, sliding off the counter stool. "And I don't want special treatment. But if I come back, I make the rules regarding Milo’s care. No one—not even you—questions me when I say the boy is in danger."