Millie's face scrunched in thought. "She needs to... believe she can do it?"
Claire's smile was like sunrise: slow, warm, and transformative. "Exactly. That's the most important thing."
She tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear as she listened to Millie's response, an unconscious gesture I'd noticed her make twice now. Her handwriting on the papers scattered across the table was neat and looping, each letter formed with care. Everything about her was deliberate but not rigid. It was purposeful without being cold.
I stepped back from the door, a tension within me letting go as I saw my daughter at peace.
When the afternoon session ended at five, I returned to the morning room. The space was transformed: colorful drawings taped to the walls, books stacked in careful piles, a diagram of story elements covered in Millie's enthusiastic arrows.
"Daddy! Look what we made!" Millie thrust a paper at me. "It's a plot map. Miss Claire says every good story needs a beginning, a middle, and an end, and the character has to change."
"This is impressive, sweetheart." I studied the chaotic web of lines and stick figures. "Very creative."
"Miss Claire said the same thing!" Millie beamed.
Claire was gathering her materials, her movements efficient. She'd rolled up her sleeves at some point, and I noticed ink smudges on her fingers. I could tell she really did her best in being there for my daughter.
"How was it?" I asked.
"Good." She slid papers into her satchel. "She's bright and eager. A little behind in math, but we can catch up easily. Shejust needs consistency and someone who lets her ask questions without judgment."
"And the environment? Was it suitable?"
She paused, understanding the real question. "The room is lovely. Thank you for setting it up."
"Miss Claire..." I hesitated, then pressed forward. "What Victoria said earlier, it was inexcusable. It won't happen again."
She looked at me, her blue eyes holding an unsettling depth. She didn't argue, didn't agree. Just looked.
"You don't believe me," I said.
"I believe you mean it." Her voice was gentle but honest. "I'm just not sure you can control it."
She was right. I couldn't. And we both knew it.
"Miss Claire, will you come back tomorrow?" Millie tugged at Claire's sleeve.
"I can’t this Thursday, sugarpie," Claire said, smiling down at her. "But I'll be back Friday morning, and we'll have the whole day together. How does that sound?"
"Amazing!"
"Then it's a date." Claire shouldered her satchel. "I'll see myself out, Mr. Sterling."
"Nathaniel," I said. "If we're going to work together, you might as well use my name."
Surprise flickered across her face, or maybe it was caution. "Nathaniel, then. Goodnight."
I watched her walk toward the service entrance she'd requested, avoiding the main foyer. Smart. She was already learning the geography of danger in this house.
"I like her, Daddy," Millie said softly, watching Claire disappear around the corner.
"Me too, sweetheart." The admission came out before I could stop it.
I sent Millie to Mrs. Lee for dinner, intending to return to my study. But Victoria's voice cut through the quiet like a blade.
"Nathaniel. Upstairs. Now."
Millie flinched. The small, instinctive recoil from a voice ignited something dark in my chest.
