Lena’s hands trembled as she zipped the suitcase. Three years. Gone in one sentence.
“Your services are no longer required.”
Sebastian Calderon hadn’t even looked at her when he said it. Just stared at his desk like she was a budget line being cut.
She descended the marble steps, counting each one. Twenty steps to the gate. Twenty steps away from Aria.
The driver waited by the black sedan, his face tight with confusion. “Miss Lena, I don’t understand—”
“Neither do I, Mang Elias.”
The estate disappeared behind them. Lena pressed her forehead against the cold window.
She’d arrived here at twenty-five, terrified and hopeful. Aria had been two—a tiny girl with solemn eyes who studied Lena for exactly ten seconds before lifting her arms.
That was it. They’d belonged to each other ever since.
Inside the mansion, Tita Rosa slammed dishes into the sink.
“Three years she raised that child,” she muttered to no one. “Three years.”
Sebastian locked himself in his office, jaw clenched.
He’d done the right thing. He had to believe that.
Elena Cruz had planted the seed weeks ago. His former fiancée, elegant and concerned.
“Don’t you think it’s strange how your nanny looks at you?”
The suggestion festered. By morning, panic made his decision.
He paid Lena extra. Dismissed her cleanly.
Now the house felt like a tomb.
Upstairs, Aria clutched Lena’s pillow and sobbed.
“I want Mi,” she whispered into the fabric. “I want Mi.”
Days crawled past.
Aria stopped eating. Stopped talking. Just sat by the window staring at the driveway.
On the fourth morning, she spiked a fever.
Sebastian rushed to her bedside. “Baby, what’s wrong? Tell Daddy.”
Aria’s eyes were glassy. “She was crying. Mi was crying when she left.”
His chest tightened. “Sweetheart—”
“She didn’t know why she had to go.”
Each word landed like a stone.
Then Aria spoke the sentence that destroyed him:
“The lady from the city doesn’t love me, Daddy. She pretends. But her eyes are cold.”
Sebastian froze.
“Mi had warm eyes. Like Mama.”
The room tilted.
Elena had been visiting regularly. Bringing gifts. Smiling at Aria with perfect white teeth.
But children see what adults miss.
“Mi made the shadows into rabbits,” Aria whispered. “She sang me the sleeping song. She never left until I was asleep.”
Sebastian’s hands shook. “I know, baby.”
“The lady checks her phone. She doesn’t know the sleeping song.”
God, what had he done?
That night, he didn’t sleep. Just sat in his office staring at Lena’s final payslip.
He’d been so afraid—afraid of what he felt when she smiled at Aria, afraid of the way his heart jumped when she laughed in the kitchen, afraid of needing someone again.
Elena had weaponized that fear perfectly.
By dawn, he’d made his decision.
He found Lena in a small apartment in Mandaluyong—a cramped studio that made his chest ache.
She opened the door in pajamas, eyes widening. “Mr. Calderon?”
“I need to talk to you.”
She didn’t move. “I don’t think—”
“Aria’s sick. She won’t eat. She asked for you.”
Lena’s resolve crumbled. “Is she okay?”
“No.” His voice cracked. “Nothing’s okay. I made a terrible mistake.”
He told her everything. Elena’s manipulation. His cowardice. The cold eyes.
“I fired you because I was afraid,” he said quietly. “Afraid of how much we needed you. Afraid of what I felt.”
Lena stood very still.
“I was wrong. Completely wrong.” He met her eyes. “Please come back. Not because we need a nanny. Because Aria needs you. Because I—”
He stopped.
“Because you what?”
“Because I can’t imagine that house without you in it.”
The silence stretched.
Then Lena whispered, “You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel disposable.”
“I know. And I will spend however long it takes proving you’re not.”
She studied his face. Saw the sleepless circles. The genuine remorse.
“Does Elena still visit?”
“I told her this morning not to come back. Ever.”
Lena exhaled slowly. “I need to see Aria.”
Relief flooded through him. “Of course.”
They drove back in silence.
When they entered Aria’s room, the little girl was lying listlessly against her pillows.
Then she saw Lena.
“Mi!”
Lena rushed to the bed, gathering Aria into her arms. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”
Aria clung to her, sobbing. “Don’t leave again. Please don’t leave.”
“Never,” Lena whispered. “I promise.”
Sebastian watched from the doorway, his throat tight.
Two weeks later, Sebastian sat Lena down in the garden.
“I need to say something.”
She waited, guarded.
“These past three years, you didn’t just care for Aria. You brought life back into this house. Joy. Warmth.” He paused. “You made me remember what home feels like.”
Lena’s breath caught.
“I was terrified of that. Of needing someone again. Of risking loss.” He reached for her hand carefully. “But losing you was worse than any risk.”
“Sebastian—”
“I’m not asking you to be Aria’s nanny anymore. I’m asking if you’ll let me prove I can be someone worthy of your trust. Worthy of you.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. “You really hurt me.”
“I know. And I’ll regret that forever.”
She looked at their joined hands. “This won’t be easy.”
“I know.”
“I’m not just going to forgive you because you apologized.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
She met his eyes. Saw the truth there.
“But I’ll give you a chance,” she whispered. “One chance.”
His smile was shaky with relief. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
Six months later, Lena stood in the same garden wearing a simple white dress.
Aria scattered flower petals, giggling wildly.
Tita Rosa dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
And when Sebastian slipped the ring onto Lena’s finger, he whispered, “You were always home. I was just too afraid to see it.”
“Well,” Lena smiled through tears, “you see it now.”
Above them, the Tagaytay sunset painted the sky in gold—the same golden light that had once illuminated their shadow games.
A rabbit.
A cloud.
A star.
And finally, a family.
