Chapter 3 - The Falling Box|
Ethan turned his head slowly toward the hallway.
Through the dark glass, he saw a cleaning cart, a stroller parked in his doorway, and a woman in a gray custodian uniform with brown hair pulled into a hurried ponytail. She wore worn canvas sneakers, and there was an overwhelming exhaustion in the way her shoulders dropped the moment she thought she was alone.
His initial instinct was pure corporate irritation. Children were strictly prohibited after hours. Liability risks. Security protocols. Insurance regulations. He reached into his coat pocket for his phone to call building security.
Then Hannah began to sing.
It was very soft, completely off-key, and punctuated by the rhythm of her microfiber cloth wiping down the mahogany desk.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells... riding in a sleigh..."
She forgot half the verses, replacing them with silly nonsense words that made Ellie giggle in her stroller. Hannah stopped polishing long enough to lean down, press a tender kiss to her daughter's forehead, and tickle her tiny stomach.
Ethan set his phone back down on the conference table, facedown. He didn't quite understand why his hand was shaking.
Inside the executive office, Hannah moved toward the tall built-in bookshelves lining the south wall. That was the exact moment Ellie discovered her feet were free.
One socked foot wriggled out from under the star-patterned blanket. Then the other. Within seconds, the agile ten-month-old had twisted sideways, slipped through the loose harness strap, and lowered herself silently onto the plush navy carpet.
"Honey, no—" Hannah turned around a second too late.
Ellie was already crawling with impressive speed toward a low walnut cabinet near the window. On its bottom shelf sat a small, dark wooden box—half-hidden behind thick annual financial reports, coated in a fine layer of dust, untouched for years.
Ellie pulled herself upright against the cabinet door, her chubby fingers wrapping around the polished wooden edge of the box.
"Ellie, sweetie, put that back—"
"Baby, don't touch!" Hannah gasped, dropping her dust cloth and lunging across the room.
It was too late. Ellie pulled.
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The heavy wooden box slid off the shelf and clattered onto the hardwood edge of the rug. The lid sprang open upon impact. A delicate, mechanical rendition of Silent Night chimed softly into the quiet room.
Hannah froze on her knees. Across the hall, behind the dark glass, Ethan Whitmore went rigidly still.
