They say money can buy almost anything, but it can’t buy a genuine smile.

Michael Reynolds learned that truth the hardest way possible, surrounded by marble floors, towering windows, and a silence so deep it felt as if the entire mansion had been holding its breath since the day his wife died.

From that moment on, the house became a flawless shell hiding something broken inside.

That morning, sunlight streamed through the tall colonial-style windows, reflecting off polished stone floors. Yet none of it reached Michael’s heart, where guilt, fear, and helplessness had settled.

To the world, he was a powerful businessman. At home, he was a father who had no idea how to hold his family together.

By the window overlooking a garden filled with bright flowers and fountains, two wheelchairs stood side by side. In them sat his twin sons, Lucas and Noah, staring outside with empty expressions.

It wasn’t loud grief. It was worse—absence. As if the world had turned its volume down, and they no longer cared to listen.

“Dad… I don’t want to eat,” one of them murmured.

The other looked away. Michael stood frozen, holding the tray. He had bought toys, hired specialists, flown in doctors from overseas. He had filled the house with everything money could provide—and still couldn’t bring back a single smile.

His wife’s portrait watched from the mantel, her calm eyes filled with a sadness that never faded. She had once been the soul of the house. Without her, everything felt hollow.

That afternoon, the new employee arrived. The housekeeper introduced her with quiet formality.

“Her name is Emily Carter.”

Emily wore a simple dress, her hair pulled back loosely, her expression calm and warm. She carried no jewelry, no sense of intimidation—only a gentle presence that felt out of place in such a grand house.

“They don’t talk much,” the housekeeper whispered, gesturing toward the boys.

Emily nodded, but her attention stayed on the twins, on their distant eyes. She entered the room as if it were any ordinary home.