That evening, Amara arrived. No glowing credentials, no polished resume—just calm, steady eyes and a voice that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I understand your children can’t sleep,” she said softly.

Daniel frowned. “Experience?”

“I’ve cared for motherless children,” she said. “They don’t just need cuddles. They need to feel safe.”

He shivered at the mention of his wife. “And you think you can make them stop crying?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

That night, he stood outside the nursery door. Inside, the twins wailed. Amara didn’t pick them up. She sat cross-legged, eyes closed, humming a strange, haunting lullaby.

Minutes passed. Slowly, the cries softened… then vanished.

Daniel crept in, incredulous. “They’re… asleep?”