Chapter 3 - FOURTEEN WOMEN, ONE LIE
The next morning, Matteo asked to speak with me.
We sat in his private study overlooking Central Park.
He wore a dark suit and looked as though he hadn't slept.
“Cassandra tells me Leah was calmer with you.”
“She was.”
He nodded.
“That's unusual.”
I hesitated.
“Mr. Duca, may I ask something?”
“Of course.”
“Why did the previous nannies leave?”
He sighed.
“Leah became aggressive. She threw objects, screamed, scratched, refused meals.”
“Did anyone ask why?”
He looked at me.
“We've consulted specialists.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Grief. Separation anxiety. Behavioral dysregulation.”
I nodded.
Those were possibilities.
But they didn't explain everything.
“Was Leah like this before her mother died?”
Matteo looked toward the window.
“No.”
“What happened to her mother?”
His jaw tightened.
“An accident.”
I waited.
He finally continued.
“My wife, Isabella, died in a car crash eleven months ago.”
“I'm sorry.”
He nodded without looking at me.
“Leah stopped speaking for nearly two months afterward.”
My chest tightened.
“Then the aggression began?”
“Yes.”
“Who was caring for her during that time?”
“Cassandra supervised the household.”
I thought of Leah's trembling hand.
“Mr. Duca, I don't think your daughter is trying to hurt people because she enjoys it.”
He looked at me.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she's trying to stop something.”
Silence.
Matteo leaned forward.
“What?”
“I don't know yet.”
He studied me.
“Fourteen nannies couldn't handle her.”
I looked at him.
“Maybe they were never told what she was afraid of.”
His expression changed.
I continued.
“When Cassandra entered yesterday, Leah became terrified. Not angry. Terrified.”
Matteo looked down.
“Cassandra has been with this family for six years.”
“I understand.”
“She cared for Isabella during her pregnancy.”
“I understand.”
He looked at me.
“You think she's hurting my daughter?”
I took a breath.
“I think your daughter is trying to tell us something. We need to listen without deciding the answer for her.”
Matteo was silent.
Then he nodded slowly.
“What do you need?”
I looked at him.
“Access to the records from the previous nannies. And permission to speak with Leah's pediatrician.”
He hesitated.
Then said:
“You'll have both.”
As I stood to leave, he added:
“Miss Carter.”
I turned.
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not walking away.”
I thought of the hospital bills waiting at home.
The broken shoe.
My mother's medication.
Then I thought of Leah.
May you like
“I'm not staying because she's easy,” I said.
“I'm staying because she's frightened.”
