By the fifth day, the change in Leo was undeniable.

The dark circles under his eyes began to fade.

His tantrums ceased, replaced by a quiet, watchful curiosity.

He sat on the playroom rug, carefully stacking his wooden blocks into a tall tower.

“Look at that,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

I turned to see Matteo DeLuca standing there.

He had discarded his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

He looked exhausted, but his dark eyes were fixed on his son.

“He has not built a tower like that in six months,” Matteo said, stepping into the room.

“He is feeling much better, Mr. DeLuca,” I said, standing up and smoothing my skirt.

Matteo walked over and knelt on the rug next to Leo.

Leo did not shrink away this time; he looked up and offered his father a tiny, tentative smile.

Matteo’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

“What did you do, Cameron?” Matteo asked, looking up at me.

“I only gave him fresh tea and made sure he rested, sir,” I said quietly.