Michael hesitated, his mind racing with questions and fears. He was a man accustomed to control, to having answers at the ready and solutions at hand, but this situation was different. This was his daughter—his precious Emily—and something was terribly amiss.
He decided to step back into the shadows for a moment longer, straining to hear every word Gloria spoke. Her voice was soothing, almost too soothing, as she coaxed Emily to eat. “Come on, sweetheart, just a little bit more,” Gloria murmured, her tone gentle yet insistent. Emily gurgled softly in response, her tiny hands reaching out clumsily.
Michael noticed how Gloria kept glancing over her shoulder, her eyes darting toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in and catch her in the act. This behavior only added to Michael’s suspicion. He needed to act, and fast.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Michael pushed the door open with a calmness he didn’t feel. Gloria jumped, nearly dropping the jar in her surprise. Her eyes widened in panic as she looked up, meeting Michael’s steely gaze.
“Mr. Whitmore! I… I didn’t know you were back,” Gloria stammered, her voice trembling.
Michael entered the room, his expression unreadable. “Clearly,” he replied, his voice cold as he glanced at the jar in her hand. “What exactly are you feeding my daughter, Gloria?”
Gloria’s eyes flickered with fear, and she quickly set the jar behind her. “It’s just… just a special blend I made myself. For her health,” she stammered, her words faltering under his scrutiny.
“Her health?” Michael’s voice was sharp. “Why would you need to make something yourself when we have everything she needs prepared and approved by professionals?”
Gloria seemed to shrink under his gaze. “I thought it would help her sleep better. She’s been a bit fussy, you know, and—”
Michael cut her off, his patience worn thin. “That’s not your decision to make, Gloria. You know the protocols we have in place for Emily’s care. Anything outside of that is unacceptable.”
Gloria’s face crumpled, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whitmore. I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought—”
Michael held up a hand. “Enough. We’ll talk later about your employment here. Right now, I need to ensure my daughter is safe.” He walked over and gently picked up Emily, holding her close to his chest. She cooed softly, nestling into his shoulder.
