The morning light poured bright and warm through the tall glass windows of the Vance estate.
Marcus Vance stood on the balcony overlooking the grand entrance of his massive mansion.
He held his morning coffee while looking over important legal documents regarding his late wife's estate.
His six-year-old son Ethan was currently screaming loudly near the front doors below.
The little boy held a heavy plastic red fire truck above his head with angry hands.
Marcus: Ethan, stop!
Ethan threw the toy directly onto the hard floor with all his strength.
The loud crack echoed through the wide white hallway and startled the security team.
Two uniformed guards stepped forward to clear the broken pieces off the shiny marble.
Ethan stomped his foot and backed away into the corner near the heavy staircase.
He breathed heavily while staring at the floor with burning eyes and tightly clenched fists.
Marcus sighed deeply and set his cup down on the wooden railing above.
He felt helpless whenever these sudden aggressive outbursts happened in the home.
Ever since his wife passed away two years ago, Ethan rarely spoke normal words.
The boy expressed his deep grief through destructive anger and constant screaming fits.
Several private tutors and expensive nanny agencies had already quit after a few days.
Clara stepped forward slowly from the adjoining guest hallway wearing her clean navy maid uniform.
She was twenty-four years old and had started working at the mansion three days prior.
She ignored the nervous warning glance from the chief security officer standing nearby.
Clara did not run toward the upset boy or raise her voice to scold him.
She dropped gently to her knees on the cold white floor a few feet away.
Clara: That hurt, Ethan.
Ethan looked up sharply with fierce hostility shining in his watery brown eyes.
He raised his hands as if he wanted to push her away from him.
Clara did not move back or flinch from his defensive posture.
She placed her soft hand gently over her own chest and kept her voice quiet.
Clara: You must be hurting even more.
The anger in the boy's face suddenly melted into total confusion and heavy sorrow.
His shoulders dropped as he let out a jagged and shaky breath.
Clara: I'm not going to run from you.
Ethan let out a tiny whimper that broke the painful silence in the hall.
He stepped forward on trembling legs and buried his face in Clara's shoulder.
He wrapped his small arms tightly around her neck and held on with all his strength.
Ethan: Mommy!
Marcus stopped in his tracks near the top of the stairs and nearly dropped his glass.
He stared down at the young maid holding his weeping son in a tight embrace.
No person had managed to comfort Ethan like this in over two long years.
Clara rested her chin on the boy's small shoulder and stroked his soft dark hair.
Clara: He isn't angry.
She looked directly up at Marcus standing frozen on the balcony above them.
Clara: He's terrified.
Marcus felt a heavy knot form in his throat as he watched them together.
He slowly walked down the marble steps while keeping his eyes fixed on Clara.
p>The mansion felt strangely quiet as the morning sun warmed the large front hall.