The next night, a young woman arrived. Her name was Amara, and she didn’t look anything like the others. She didn’t have an impeccable resume. She dressed simply and didn’t carry a briefcase. But her gaze was serene, and when she spoke, her voice had a warmth Daniel hadn’t heard in months.
“I understand your children can’t sleep,” she said gently.
Daniel looked at her skeptically. “Do you have experience with babies? With… difficult cases?”
Amara nodded once. “I’ve cared for children who have lost their mothers. They don’t just need food and cuddles. They need to feel safe again.
Daniel shuddered at the mention of his children’s mother. “And you think you can make them stop screaming? None of the others could.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t think so. I know.”
That night, Daniel stood outside the nursery door, ready to intervene. Inside, the twins were already fussing, with high-pitched, restless cries. Amara didn’t rush to pick them up like the others. Instead, she sat on the floor between their cribs, closed her eyes, and began humming a soft, unfamiliar tune.
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