Here is the translation of the continuation of the story from French to English:
Edward Hawthorne’s voice shattered the silence like a hammer blow against glass. He stopped on the threshold of the master bedroom, tall and stiff with rage, disbelief etched into every hard line of his face. His coat was dripping with rainwater, but he paid it no mind.
All his attention was fixed on the woman in his bed, Maya Williams. She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding, her eyes wide—not with guilt, but with shock. The two twins, Ethan and Eli, were nestled on either side of her, finally asleep, their faces peaceful, their breathing regular.
The teddy bear in Ethan’s arms rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing.
“I can explain…” Maya whispered, trying not to wake the children. Her hands lifted slightly, open, calm. “They were scared. Eli started crying. Ethan had a nosebleed.”
Edward didn’t let her finish. His hand swung down violently, a sharp smack echoing in the room as he slapped her. Maya staggered, gasping, her hand flying to her cheek.
She didn’t cry out, didn’t say a word. Her eyes locked onto his, more surprised by the action than the anger.
“I don’t care about your excuses,” Edward snarled. “You’re fired. Get out. Immediately.”
She froze for a moment, her hand still on her cheek, trying to catch her breath.
Her voice, when it came, was low, barely a whisper.
“They begged me not to leave them. I stayed because finally… they were calm. Safe.”
“I said: out.”
Maya looked down at the children, still deep in serene sleep, as if the shadows that haunted them had finally dissipated. She gently leaned down, kissed Eli’s head, then Ethan’s. Not another word. No scene. She slipped on her shoes, walked past Edward without a sound. He didn’t stop her. He didn’t apologize.
Downstairs, Mrs. Keller turned as she saw Maya descending the staircase. The red mark on her cheek said it all. The old woman’s eyes widened in dismay. Maya said nothing.
Outside, the rain had softened to a fine mist. Maya walked out into the gray afternoon, pulled her coat tighter, and headed toward the gate.
Upstairs, Edward still stood in the room. He was breathing heavily. He looked at the bed. His jaw clenched. Then he noticed something. The silence. He walked closer.
Ethan’s forehead was smooth. No shivering, no murmuring, no cold sweat. Eli was sucking his thumb, his other hand relaxed on the blanket. They were sleeping. Not from extreme exhaustion. Not from medication. Just… sleeping.
His throat tightened. Fourteen nannies. Therapists. Doctors. Hours of crises and screaming. And yet, Maya, a soft-spoken stranger, had accomplished what no one else could offer. And he… he had hit her. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Shame spread through his chest like ink in water.
On the nightstand, a folded piece of paper. He opened it.
If you cannot stay for them, at least do not drive away the one who will.
It was unsigned. He reread it twice. Then again.
In the hallway, Mrs. Keller was watching him.
“Sir,” she said softly, “she didn’t touch anything. She just carried them here when the little one had a nosebleed.”
He didn’t answer.
“She stayed because they asked her to. That’s all.”
Edward slowly lifted his eyes. They were no longer filled with anger, but with silent remorse.
Outside, the gate closed. And for the first time in months, the Hawthorne house was silent. Not the silence of grief or anger—but a silence of peace. The peace Maya had left behind.
That evening, Edward was in his office, an untouched glass of scotch beside him, Maya’s note on the desk, like a verdict. He had read it seven times.
His hand still throbbed, the phantom of the slap etched into his skin. This was not the man he thought he was. And yet, he had done it. A moment of rage, born of grief, fueled by a thousand small, silent failures. He had struck a woman—not just any woman.
He went upstairs. In the hallway, near the children’s room, was a small stool. On it, Maya’s sketchbook. He opened it.
Simple sketches, not professional, but full of heart: two children holding hands under a tree, a large house with too many windows, a silhouette between the two, arms like wings. Below it, an inscription:
The one who stays.
At the train station, Maya sat on a bench. Her cheek pulsed in the cold. She hadn’t cried when he yelled, nor even when he slapped her. But now, with a lukewarm coffee in her hands, tears welled up in her eyes. She quickly wiped them away.
She had stayed for the twins. Not for the money, nor for the prestige of working in a billionaire’s mansion. She had recognized in their frightened eyes the same terror she knew all too well: the terror of being left alone with their nightmares.
The train arrived with a sigh. She got on, sat near a window. She didn’t see the black Bentley that pulled into the parking lot just as the train was pulling away.
Three Weeks Later
The twins had regressed. Ethan’s nightmares had returned. Eli’s nosebleeds, too. Edward knew it wasn’t a matter of therapy. It was a matter of trust.
He hired a private investigator. From a shelter in Savannah, to a diner in Macon, to a small bakery in Augusta.
She was behind the counter, her hair tied back, her cheeks covered in flour.
The Conversation
“I came to ask for your forgiveness,” Edward said softly, “and to beg you to come back.”
“I don’t know if the children still need me,” she replied.
“They do,” he said. “I do too. I was wrong. I let pain turn me into a man I don’t want to be.”
Maya looked at him for a long time.
“You didn’t just fire me, Edward. You humiliated me. You hurt me. Why should I take that risk again?”
“Because with you, they sleep. Because they laugh. And because I will give you the respect and security you deserve. From me. From everyone.”
She paused, then said:
“I’ll come back. For them. But if you forget what you just promised, I will leave. And this time, there will be no turning back.”
“Agreed,” he replied.
Epilogue
At the mansion, Ethan and Eli ran to her, clinging to her coat. That night, for the first time in weeks, the house slept in true peace.
In his office, Edward looked at the drawing in the notebook: two children under a tree, the open-armed silhouette between them. Below, Maya’s words:
The one who stays.
And this time, Edward was ready to make sure she truly could stay.
