“Is this the new girl?” Matteo asked.

His voice was a deep baritone that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards.

“Yes, Mr. DeLuca,” Mrs. Higgins said, her voice instantly softening into something sweet.

“This is Cameron.”

Matteo walked over to Leo and knelt down.

He reached out a large, calloused hand to touch his son’s shoulder.

Leo flinched violently away, screaming a shrill, wordless cry, and began banging his head against the carpet.

It broke my heart to watch.

Matteo’s jaw clenched, a muscle pulsing in his cheek.

“He has been like this for months,” Matteo muttered, his voice tight with pain and frustration.

“Fix this, Cameron. If you can make my son well, you will never have to worry about money again.”

He stood up, gave me one long, searching look, and walked out.

“You heard him,” Mrs. Higgins whispered, her eyes flashing with a strange intensity.

“Wait here. I will fetch his afternoon tea. It helps soothe his tantrums.”

She left the room.

I knelt beside Leo, speaking to him in soft, gentle tones.

He didn’t look at me, but his screaming subsided into a weak, shivering tremble.

He felt hot to the touch, his forehead damp with sweat.

It didn’t look like a typical tantrum; it looked like physical distress.

After ten minutes, Mrs. Higgins had not returned.

I decided to look for her to get the tea myself.

I walked down the hallway to the service kitchen, my rubber-soled shoes silent on the stone floor.

The door to the pantry was cracked open.

A warm, sweet scent of chamomile and honey drifted out.

I was about to knock when I saw Mrs. Higgins through the gap.

She was standing by the counter, holding a small brown glass dropper bottle.

Her face was devoid of its usual sternness; she looked focused, almost eager.