The agency called on a Thursday afternoon, three weeks after Ria Torres started working for him. Greg Matthysse was in his office, halfway through a conference call, when his assistant buzzed him with the news. “Mr. Matthysse, we need to inform you that Miss Torres has a discrepancy in her employment history.
”
He muted the call. His blood went cold. “What kind of discrepancy? ”
“She was previously employed at a pediatric rehabilitation center.
She was let go. ”
“For what? ”
A pause. “The details are sealed, but there was an incident involving a patient’s family.
We recommend immediate termination. ”
Greg hung up and stared at the phone. She lied to him. She walked into his house, into his son’s life, with a hidden past.
He opened his laptop and clicked through the hidden camera feeds, the ones he’d installed a year ago after the third nurse quit without explanation, after he’d paid a physiotherapist a fortune for sessions she never completed, after he’d found his twelve-year-old son barely breathing in a locked bathroom for forty minutes because someone forgot to check on him. Tyler had been in a wheelchair for two years. A teenage driver, texting, had t-boned their car at an intersection. Tyler’s mother died on impact.
His spine shattered at T7. Greg survived with scratches. Some days he wished he hadn’t. The cameras were hidden everywhere: disguised as smoke detectors, picture frames, even the eye of a decorative owl on the bookshelf.
Greg told himself it was safety, liability, protection. But in the 3:00 a. m. quiet of his office, he knew it was also punishment.
Watching over the son he couldn’t save from a distance he couldn’t close. Ria was in the kitchen with Tyler. They were laughing. Greg’s jaw tightened.
He walked downstairs. Ria looked up when he entered and smiled. “Mr. Matthysse, wasn’t expecting you home early.
”
“We need to talk. ” His voice was flat. “Tyler, go to your room. ”
Tyler frowned.
“Dad, what now? ”
Ria’s smile faded. She nodded at Tyler. “It’s okay.
Go ahead. ”
Tyler hesitated, then wheeled out. When the door closed, Greg turned to her. “You lied to me.
”
Ria didn’t blink. “About your previous job. You were fired. ”
“I was let go,” she corrected.
“There’s a difference. ”
“Not to me. ” His voice was sharp. “You were working with children.
Something happened, and you didn’t tell me. ”
Ria’s expression didn’t change. “You’re right. I didn’t.
”
“Why? ”
She exhaled slowly. “Because if I told you, you wouldn’t have hired me. ”
“Damn right I wouldn’t have.
”
“And Tyler would still be alone. ”
The words hit like a slap. Greg stared at her. “What happened?
”
Ria met his eyes. “I got too close. A kid I was working with. His parents didn’t like that he trusted me more than them.
So they complained, said I overstepped. The center didn’t want the liability. ”
“And did you overstep? ”
Her voice was quiet.
“I told a ten-year-old boy that his parents’ divorce wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t have to carry their guilt. ”
Greg’s throat tightened. “They fired me the next day,” Ria said. “And I don’t regret it.
”
Silence. He looked at her. Really looked. “You care about him?
”
“Yeah,” Ria said simply. “I do more than the job. The job’s just a job. ” Her eyes stayed steady.
“Tyler’s a kid who thinks he’s broken. And I’m not going to let him believe that. ”
Greg felt something crack inside him. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Ria blinked. “For what? ”
“For not seeing it sooner. ”
That night, Greg made a decision.
He called Ria into his office. “I’m giving you full access. No more agency oversight. No more contracts.
You work directly for me. Whatever you need—time, resources, equipment—you get it. ”
Ria stared at him. “Why?
”
“Because you’re the first person who’s made my son feel like a person again. ”
Her eyes softened. “But I need to know,” Greg said. “Are you in this?
Really? ”
Ria didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I am. ”
Greg nodded.
“Then let’s give him a life worth fighting for. ”
It was a Tuesday when Greg watched her break through. He was in his office, glancing at the camera feed out of habit. Tyler was in the living room, crying.
Not loud, not dramatic, just shaking, fists clenched, face buried in his hands. Before he could move, Ria entered the frame. She didn’t run over or panic. She sat on the couch beside him, close but not touching.
“Tyler. ” He didn’t look up. “Tyler, I’m here. ”
Still nothing.
She waited. Then Tyler’s voice cracked. “I hate this. ”
“I know.
”
“You don’t know what it’s like to—” He stopped, shook his head. “Forget it. ”
“Try me,” Ria said quietly. Tyler looked at her, eyes red.
“What’s the point of trying if I’m never getting better? ”
Ria didn’t flinch. “Who said you’re not getting better? ”
“Everyone.
The doctors, the therapists. They all say the same thing. Adjust. Adapt.
Like I’m supposed to just accept it. ”
“And you don’t want to. ”
“No. ” Tyler’s voice rose.
“I don’t want to be okay with this. I want—” His voice cracked. “I want to run again. I want to play basketball.
I want—” He choked. “I want my mom back. ”
Greg felt his throat close. Ria was silent for a long moment.
Then she said, “Your mom’s not coming back. ”
Tyler flinched. “And you might never run the way you did before. ” Her voice was steady.
“Those are facts, and they’re awful, and I’m not going to lie to you and say they’re not. ”
Tyler stared at her, stunned. “But here’s the other fact. You’re still here, and that means something.
Maybe you don’t know what yet, but it does. ” She looked at him. “I’m not asking you to be okay with it. I’m just asking you not to give up before you figure out what you’re becoming.
”
Tyler’s shoulders shook. Then he leaned into her. Ria wrapped her arms around him and held on. Greg closed the laptop.
He sat in the dark of his office, face in his hands, and wept. Six months after the agency call, Greg sat in the audience of the middle school talent show. Tyler was on stage in his wheelchair, playing the drums. The rhythm was imperfect.
His hands shook. But the sound—the sound was alive. Greg’s eyes burned. When it ended, the crowd erupted.
Tyler looked out into the audience and smiled. Not the polite smile. Not the brave smile. The real one.
Backstage, Ria stood in the wings, arms crossed, grinning. Greg approached her. “Thank you,” he said. Ria shook her head.
“I didn’t do this. He did. ”
“You gave him the chance. ”
Ria looked at him.
“So did you. ”
Greg frowned. “How? ”
“You let go.
”
Greg’s breath caught. “You thought control would save him,” Ria said softly. “But trust did. ”
Greg stared at her.
For the first time in two years, he felt something other than fear. Later that night, after Tyler was asleep, Greg stood in his office. He opened the camera feed one last time. Tyler’s room was dark, peaceful.
Greg closed the laptop and deleted the app. Some things don’t need to be watched. They just need to be believed.
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