Belinda smiled. “Mr. Whitaker, I’ve worked with children who set their foster homes on fire because they were afraid of being hurt again. I’ve worked with kids who broke everything they touched because they felt broken inside. Destruction is just pain with nowhere else to go.”
John stared at this remarkable woman who saw his sons as human beings, not problems. “When can you start?”
Chapter Four: The First Day
The next morning, Belinda arrived at the Whitaker mansion at seven, carrying a thermos of coffee and a bag of homemade cookies. She knew first impressions mattered, especially with children who’d been hurt. John met her at the door, looking exhausted and stressed.
“The boys are still asleep, but they’ll be up soon. Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Belinda handed him the thermos. “Thought you might need some coffee. And Mr. Whitaker, whatever happens today, I’m not giving up on your sons.”
John was touched. When was the last time someone had thought to bring him coffee? “Thank you, Miss Johnson. That’s…very kind.”
“Please call me Belinda.”
At 7:30 a.m., the sound of running feet echoed through the house, followed by shouting and the crash of something breaking. “They’re up,” John said grimly.
Belinda followed the noise to the kitchen, where she found three identical boys with dark hair and bright blue eyes engaged in a syrup war. The kitchen island was sticky, and one boy was preparing to dump orange juice on his brothers.
“Food fight!” yelled one when he saw Belinda.
Instead of getting angry, Belinda laughed. “Wow, you guys are really good at making messes. I’m impressed.”
The boys stopped mid-fight, confused.
“You’re not going to yell at us?” one asked.
“Why would I yell? This looks like it was actually pretty fun. Though I bet you’re all sticky now.”
The boys exchanged glances, thrown off by her calm response.
