The office was crowded with paperwork, medical files, and folders stacked high. Behind a large desk sat Daniel Everett, early forties, handsome in a tired way, with shadows under his eyes and tension in his shoulders that never seemed to release.
“Please sit,” he said, motioning to a chair.
Rebecca sat carefully and folded her hands in her lap.
“The agency tells me you have experience with children who have medical needs,” he began.
“Yes,” she answered. “I have worked with children requiring daily care and close observation. I am trained in emergency response and medication schedules.”
He nodded, though his expression remained cautious.
“Why did you leave your previous positions?”
Rebecca hesitated before answering, because grief never became easy to explain. “One family relocated abroad. Another child I cared for passed away after a sudden illness. The family no longer needed assistance afterward.”
His eyes softened briefly. “I am sorry.”
“Thank you. It taught me to pay attention to details others might overlook,” she replied.
He leaned back and exhaled. “I will be direct. My sons are five. Twin boys. Their names are Lucas and Aaron. They have been ill for over a year. We have consulted specialists across the country. No one has answers. They grow weaker. I am running out of options.”
Rebecca listened quietly, absorbing every word.
“They were healthy before,” Daniel added, his voice low. “Their mother died two years ago in a car accident. Six months later, the symptoms began. Some doctors suggest grief. I believe there is more to it.”
Before Rebecca could speak, the office door opened abruptly. A man in a white coat entered without knocking. He was confident, expensive, impatient.
“Daniel, we need to review the latest results,” he said, then noticed Rebecca. “Who is this?”
Daniel introduced her. The doctor looked Rebecca over with thinly veiled disdain.
“Another caregiver,” the doctor muttered. “Your sons need medical oversight, not household staff pretending to diagnose.”
Rebecca felt heat rise in her chest but kept her voice level. “I am here to care for them, not diagnose. But I am observant.”
The doctor scoffed. “Observation without medical training is useless.”
Rebecca met his eyes calmly. “How long have you treated them?”
“Eight months,” he replied sharply.
“And you still do not know what is wrong,” she said.