Instead, the house was dead quiet, immaculate, and completely vacant.
The living room furniture had been meticulously rearranged. The massive twin crib that usually sat beneath the bay window was gone. The playpens, the vibrating bouncers, the formula dispensers, and the stacks of diapers had completely vanished. Even the atmosphere smelled entirely different—not like baby formula and damp burp cloths, but crisp lavender and fresh wood wax.
Julian lowered his cooler onto the hardwood planks, a sharp crease of confusion furrowing his brow.
“Evelyn?” he called out, his voice bouncing off the bare, echoing walls of the corridor. “Where are the kids?”
I emerged from my home office at the far end of the hallway. I wasn’t sporting the faded yoga bottoms I had practically lived in for six months. I wore a sharp cream trouser suit, my hair neatly styled, and my expression set in absolute, unshakeable poise.
“In the nursery,” I answered softly, leaning against the door frame with a mug of steaming chamomile tea between my hands. “Asleep.”
Julian took a hesitant step into the living room, scanning the empty space in sheer bewilderment. “What happened to all their gear? Why is the entire room gutted?”
“I optimized,” I replied smoothly, taking a measured sip of tea. “While you were out on your fishing trip, I came to terms with the fact that managing a five-bedroom property and two infants entirely solo demanded a massive boost in operational efficiency. So, I brought in reinforcements.”
Julian’s expression darkened instantly. “You hired help? Evelyn, we discussed this. A full-time nanny runs thousands of dollars a month! I bust my tail for our paycheck—”
“I didn’t retain a nanny, Julian,” I cut in, setting my mug down on the console table with a soft click. “I contracted a commercial moving crew, a luxury estate organizer, and a team of certified overnight infant specialists.”
