Page 7 of Nanny for the Minotaur

My son's response carries his rare morning enthusiasm. "Can I show her the new book about sea beasts?"

"Perfect timing – we can practice her breathing exercises while you read."

My fingers drop from the door handle. For the first time in three years, I leave it open, letting the life of my household flow in. The morning routine unfolds like a melody – Kai's excited footsteps on the stairs, Lyra's gentle coaxing as she helps Mira start her day, Mrs. Bramble's pots clanking in the kitchen below.

I settle at my desk, ledgers spread before me. But instead of shutting out the sounds of my family, I let them wash over me. Through the open door, I hear Mira's delighted giggle as Kai describes some fantastical creature. Lyra's voice guides them both, patient and warm.

The house feels alive again. And I'm no longer hiding from it.

4

LYRA

Through the window, dawn paints the garden in watercolor hues. Mira's already waiting on her cushioned mat when I make it to her room, silver-white fur catching the early light. Her tiny hooves tap an eager rhythm against the floor as I guide her through gentle stretches, something to help her work on stamina but not push her.

"Like this?" She reaches for her toes, face scrunching with effort.

"Perfect." I adjust her form slightly. "Remember to breathe."

Movement at the doorway catches my eye. Kai lingers there, pressed against the frame as if trying to fade into the woodwork. Despite his height - already reaching my shoulders - he hunches inward, making himself small.

Mrs. Bramble was the one that got him up today and to breakfast, but I don't think he likes being separated from his sister.

"Would you like to join us?"

His blue eyes widen. He shifts from hoof to hoof, gaze darting between me and his sister.

"Kai! Come stretch with us!" Mira pats the empty spot beside her, and I stand to get him a mat.

He edges into the room, each step careful and measured as I lay the mat out next to Mira. When he settles in the spot beside her, his lanky limbs fold awkwardly, like he's not quite sure where they belong.

"Here." I demonstrate the next stretch. "This one's good for growing bones."

His movements mirror mine precisely, but tension rides his shoulders. I notice how he watches me from the corner of his eye, as if waiting for correction or criticism.

Later, as Mira naps, I sort through dried herbs at my workbench. Kai hovers nearby, pretending to read but stealing glances at my work.

"Could you help me separate these bluefrost flowers?" I push a basket toward him. "They need sorting by size."

The book drops to his lap. "You want my help?"

"If you'd like to learn. These herbs might help your sister someday."

His fingers, already surprisingly dexterous, pluck through the dried blooms. Each flower he sorts lands precisely in its designated pile. No wasted movement, no childish scatter - just careful, methodical work.

When I praise his attention to detail, his smile transforms his whole face. The serious mask cracks, revealing the six-year-old beneath. But it's the flash of surprise in his eyes that twists something in my chest. As if simple inclusion is an unexpected gift rather than his birthright.

Each day reveals new layers to this household's carefully maintained facade. Mrs. Bramble's shoulders drop a fraction when I take over getting both kids up in the morning, though she hovers nearby, dusting the same shelf three times while watching us work. Her iron grip on the house's routine softens,just slightly, when I suggest moving Mira's treatments to the garden where fresh air can reach her lungs.

"The master usually takes his breakfast in his study," she mentions one morning, hands twisting her apron as I pull back heavy velvet curtains. Sunlight streams across the breakfast table where I start the morning with the kids, catching dust motes in golden beams. "But perhaps..."

I arrange fresh-cut flowers in a crystal vase. "Maybe he'll want to start his day with his kids?"

She gives me a grin. "If you think it'll help Miss Mira."

I nod, giving her a conspiratorial look. "I think it will."

"I'll ask him then." But I'm certain that Mrs. Bramble will not let him say no.

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