LILA.

“They’re finally out, Lila. Both of them.”

Callum Draven’s voice carried low from the hallway as he stepped into the living room. I looked up from the couch where I had been folding the last of the laundry. The baby monitor on the side table glowed soft green. His six-year-old daughter and four-year-old son had fought sleep for nearly an hour before the house went quiet.

I was twenty-four and had been their nanny for six months. Callum was thirty-six, a successful architect who still wore grief like a second skin after losing his wife two years earlier. He was tall, dark-haired, with the kind of broad shoulders that...