Matteo's Mother

Today, we sit on the floor of the library, surrounded by books. Matteo is flipping through the pages of The Call of the Wild, his small fingers tracing the illustrations. He still hasn't spoken a full sentence to me, but he doesn't flinch when I sit close anymore. That's progress.

Leo is watching from the doorway again. He always hovers, like he's waiting for me to fail.

I ignore him and turn to Matteo. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

Matteo doesn't answer, but he doesn't push the book away either. I take that as a yes.

I clear my throat and begin.

"Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing..."

My voice is soft and steady. As I read, Matteo's eyes never leave the pages.

Leo is still watching. I can feel his gaze like a weight on my skin.

I keep reading.

She's patient.

Too patient.

She doesn't push Matteo; she doesn't force him to speak. And somehow, that works.

Matteo never sits still when I try to read to him. 

It makes me uneasy.

Ella doesn't look at me, but I know she feels my presence. She keeps reading, her voice smooth and even, drawing Matteo in.

I tell myself this is good; Matteo needs this.

But I also know that when you get too comfortable with someone, it hurts more when they leave.

I'm getting used to the routine—arriving at the estate, seeing Matteo, feeling Leo's watchful eyes on me. But today, something is different.

There's a stranger in the foyer.

A woman, tall and sharp-featured, dressed in an expensive beige coat, her arms crossed like she owns the place. She eyes me with cool disinterest before turning to Leo.

"You didn't tell me you hired a new teacher," she says. Her voice is smooth, but something is condescending about it.

Leo stiffens. "It wasn't your business to know, Vanessa."

Vanessa.

Matteo's mother.

I recognize her now from the research I did before taking the job—heiress to a family fortune, known for her high-profile divorce from Leo, and, most importantly, not Matteo's primary caregiver.

Her eyes flick back to me. "You're young," she observes, like it's a flaw. "And what exactly qualifies you to teach my son?"

I straighten my shoulders, meeting her gaze. "I have experience working with children, and I specialize in trauma-informed education."

Her red lips curve into something that's not quite a smile. "How charming."

Leo steps in before I can respond. "Vanessa, why are you here?"

She exhales, clearly annoyed. "I came to see Matteo; I am his mother."

Something about the way she says it makes me uneasy.

Matteo doesn't talk about his mother. And from the way his body tenses when he hears her voice, I know he doesn't want to see her.

Vanessa sighs and waves a manicured hand. "Fine. Be difficult. But I'll be back. You can't keep him from me forever."

Leo doesn't answer. He just watches as she turns and walks out, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

When the door shuts behind her, silence hangs in the air.

Matteo clutches his stuffed wolf tighter.

Leo rubs his temples, exhaling slowly.

And I wonder just how deep this family's scars go.

I watch Vanessa leave, feeling the familiar tension coil in my chest. She always does this—swooping in when it suits her, making a scene, and then vanishing just as quickly. Matteo doesn't even cry anymore when she leaves. He just stares at the door like he's trying to figure out why she keeps coming back at all.

I turn to him. He's gripping his stuffed wolf so tightly that his knuckles are white.

"Hey, buddy," I say, crouching down. "Are you okay?"

He nods. But I know better.

Ella shifts beside me, her eyes snapping between me and Matteo like she's piecing something together. She doesn't ask questions, though, and I'm grateful.

Instead, she kneels beside Matteo, her voice soft. "Do you want to go play the piano for a bit?"

Matteo doesn't respond, but his fingers relax slightly around the stuffed wolf.

Ella stands and offers her hand. He hesitates, then takes it.

And just like that, she leads him toward the music room, giving him something Vanessa never does—patience.

The second my fingers touch the piano keys, I feel the tension in the room shift. Matteo is sitting beside me, his small hands resting on his lap, but his gaze is locked on my fingers.

I start with something simple—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. A melody he knows. A melody that doesn't demand anything from him.

Matteo's hand inches forward, hovering just above the keys. Then, hesitantly, he presses one. A single, soft note.

"That's good," I encourage. "Do you want to try a little more?"

He doesn't speak, but he presses another key. Then another.

And then, slowly, he starts to play alongside me.

Leo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, 

Matteo plays a few more notes, then stops suddenly.

He turns to me, eyes wide, hesitant. Then, so quietly, he whispers, "Again."

The moment the word leaves Matteo's mouth, the room stills. My breath locks in my chest, and I swear I didn't hear him right. But then Ella's face softens, her expression careful, like she's afraid any sudden movement might scare him back into silence.

"Of course," she says gently, pressing the first key again.

Matteo hesitates for only a second before following her lead, his small fingers pressing the notes one at a time. He's slow and unsure, but I can see it—the way he's listening, watching, and learning. It's the most engaged I've seen him in months.

Ella hums along softly, barely audible, but it's enough to keep him going. I don't know how she's doing it, how she's pulling him out of the silence he's been trapped in.

Matteo plays the last note and turns to Ella with wide eyes, waiting.

"That was amazing," she tells him, her smile warm. "Do you want to try a different song?"

He nods. He actually nods.

I don't even know how to process it.

Ella meets my gaze, and something passes between us. A silent understanding. A shared victory.

I clear my throat, shoving down whatever that feeling is. "It's getting late," I say gruffly. "Matteo, time for bed."

Matteo looks disappointed, but he slides off the piano bench without a fuss. Before he leaves, though, he pauses by Ella, tugging lightly on her sleeve.

"Tomorrow?" he asks quietly.

Ella's breath catches, but she recovers quickly. "Tomorrow," she promises.

Matteo disappears down the hall with his nanny, leaving me alone with Ella.

She turns to me, arms loosely crossing over her chest. "He spoke," she says, almost like she's trying to convince herself it really happened.

I nod. "Yeah. He did."

For a moment, we just stand there, the weight of it sinking in.

And then, because I don't know what else to say, I mutter, "Good job today."

Ella raises an eyebrow, a slow smile tugging at her lips. "Was that a compliment, Mr. Hayes?"

I roll my eyes and turn toward the hallway. "Don't push your luck, Richson."