In my $50-million Seattle mansion, grief and paranoia consumed me after my wife, Seraphina, died days after giving birth to our twins, Leo and Noah. I turned my home into a surveillance fortress, installing twenty-six cameras to watch our nanny, Elena, whom I feared might harm the boys.
One night, the feeds revealed the truth: Elena was holding fragile Leo skin-to-skin, humming Seraphina’s private lullaby—a song only she had ever sung. Then Beatrice, my venomous sister-in-law, appeared, attempting to drug Noah. Elena had already swapped the bottles, protecting the twins and exposing Beatrice’s schemes.
I intervened just as Beatrice lunged. The police arrived; the threat ended. Sitting afterward in the nursery, I finally saw my sons not as burdens, but as living echoes of Seraphina. Elena had been their guardian angel all along.
We transformed the Thorne Trust into the Seraphina Foundation, dedicating our resources to protect children from exploitation. Now, we no longer watch the cameras. We sit together in the nursery, letting the music—and love—fill the space.