PROLOGUE
The house was louder now.
Not the kind of loud that came from fear or chaos — the kind that came from life. From toys on hardwood floors. From laughter echoing down hallways. From a three‑year‑old who had discovered the power of her own voice.
Jen stepped over a pile of blocks and scooped her daughter into her arms. “Little L, what did we say about building towers in the kitchen?”
The toddler giggled. “They fall down!”
Kristen leaned against the counter, flour on her cheek, apron crooked. “She’s not wrong.”
Lily walked in carrying grocery bags. “Your child convinced the cashier she was turning five today. I had to buy cupcakes.”
Jen sighed. “She’s a menace.”
Kristen kissed the top of Little L’s head. “She’s perfect.”
The front door opened and Linda swept in like a warm breeze, arms full of gifts she absolutely did not need to bring. “Where’s my girl?”
Little L squealed and launched herself into her grandmother’s arms.
The house felt full. Safe. Settled.
For the first time in years, Lily wasn’t looking over her shoulder. Jen wasn’t waking up from nightmares. Kristen wasn’t flinching at sudden noises.
Elodie and Milo visited every few weeks, planning their wedding. Linda talked about retiring. Life had finally softened.
And when Little L turned three, Jen and Kristen made a decision.
“Lily deserves a break,” Kristen said. “And Mom and her need cruise alone,” Jen added. “We can’t keep doing this alone,” Lily admitted. “We need help,” Kristen said. “A babysitter,” Jen finished.
They posted the listing that night.
And somewhere across town, in a small studio apartment with lace curtains and a cross above the bed, Becca Kavanaugh read the ad twice.
Her heart fluttered.
A child. A home of women. A chance to fulfill her calling.
She whispered softly to herself:
“God sends me where I’m needed.”
And she clicked Apply.
