Life was rather monotonous for the rich, but my life in particular took boring to the next level as I stayed in my room, staring out of the window, for days on end.

Out of the blue, Mother and Father searched for a caregiver for me for months. I guessed they finally noticed their greying hair one day and decided they were too old to take care of me anymore. It was not like they did much anyway, just cooking my meals and leaving me alone to waste away my days. I knew they did not like me. I was a disappointment to them. Why did I have to be born like this? Why did I even have to be born? Why did they not let me die truly?

Father told me that God works in mysterious ways, but I do not believe in Him anyway.

My daily contemplation of life ended when I heard footsteps echo from the hallway and whispers outside my door. It was rather early for breakfast as Mother enjoyed pretending she had a lady's maid by making breakfast for herself and going back to bed to eat it. It was also unusual for both of them to show up at my door.

Was it a surprise like yesterday when I received banana bread for breakfast?

He knocked three times on my rosewood door, which was unusual. Typically, they just left my meals on the designated table outside, and I would pick them up later.

"Enter," I said, gaining them entrance.

Mother's heels clicked harshly against the hardwood floor until she stopped behind me at my side. "Son, we have someone to see you." I resented how she spoke to me like a child.

I exhaled rather harshly as I reached to my wheels, turning myself around to face Mother. That was when I noticed her, a stranger I had never seen before. It could only mean one thing: another rejection and humiliation.

My blue eyes went wide as a massive revelation dawned on me. I was not properly dressed for an introduction, no matter how painful it would be. I was wearing my nightgown for Chrirt's sake! "Mother, I am not even dressed. Why did you not tell me there was going to be another potential caregiver today?"

She waved her hand nonchalantly, not caring that an introduction was to be in place. "William, calm down. She is not going to stay here for long anyway."

I paused, my mouth slightly agape, her words striking a chord deep inside me. "So, you admit it; this whole thing is worthless. No one is ever going to agree to this stupid role."

"Now, William, you take that back. It is important that you have a caregiver because of your disability. We are not going to be here forever, so you must have someone to take care of you when we no longer cannot."

The sound of Father clearing his throat brought Mother and I out of our bickering as we looked at the man of the room. Father gave Mother the look, and she gazed back at him with disdain in her blue eyes, saying, "We do not have to do this for her."

"Dearest, it is impolite if we do not, no matter who is being introduced." I mentally prepared myself for the uncomfortable and slightly painful experience that was being held up by my armpits by my parents so I could show respect to the potential caregiver through my introduction. Father grabbed me by the upper arm, the linen sleeve bunching up around his hand, and looked at Mother who was doing nothing. "Dearest, I cannot do this alone."

She crossed her arms. "Then I guess you will not do it at all. He can sit during this introduction."

Father sighed, letting go of my arm. I took a deep breath, relieved that I did not have to go through that painful ritual even if it went against the gentleman's code. I looked at the young woman with a forced smile because, no matter my circumstances, I should always try to adhere to the proper etiquette.

"Miss Claire Becker, this is our son, Viscount William Windsor," Father introduced.

I examined her just as she had examined me. I noticed her chestnut hair styled in loose curls with some pinned up and her fair skin was blushed like a child's. She smelled like banana bread and seemed rather spirited and expressive, things that I did not have often or at all in my house.

"So, I know your name, but who are you, madam?"

Her lips were slightly agape as if she was about to say something, but Mother beat her to it. "She might be your caregiver, but only if you want her to be."

At the sound of the word 'caregiver,' I resumed arguing with his mother, my frustration bubbling over. The term seemed to hang in the air, its implication like a weight on my chest. To her, it might have seemed like an innocuous label, but to me, it felt like a reminder of everything I was resisting.

I squared my shoulders, trying to steady my voice. "Mother, I do not want a nanny—I am twenty-three years old—and I certainly do not want another one to meet me just to decline the offer."

The potential caregiver piped in, "Oh, but I do not mind the wheelchair at all, and I came here on my own accord. I didn't know your parents until today."

"You...didn't?" I questioned slowly. We looked at each other, her forest-green eyes connecting with my ocean-blue orbs. Most people gave roundabout excuses or just plainly left after seeing my wheelchair, yet she plainly stated that she did not care about it. No one has ever done that before. She gave me a heartfelt smile, and for the first time in a while, I felt a corner of my lips perk up a little. This lady was definitely different than any I have ever seen before.

Mother stepped between us, spreading her arms to push me away from Miss Becker. "Okay, I think that is enough of an introduction. You can go now." She grabbed the lady's hand and not-so-gently led her out of my room and out of my life. Like someone turned off the lights, shadows seeped back into the room. Her scent of freshly baked pastries disappeared with her, leaving me with a hunger for what was taken away.

I sat there in the growing darkness, the quiet returning to its usual oppressive weight. My eyes lingered on the door, wishing for a moment that I had the courage to call her back. But what would it matter? She would leave like the others. The thought felt like a cold stone in my chest.

From down the hall, I could hear Father's voice, low and insistent. "Beatrice, are you sure that was enough time for William to decide?"

"Yes, it was the same amount of time the others had, so yes, I do think so," Mother replied, her voice sharp.

"But that was only because they left on their own accord. She was not done talking with him yet." His tone had an edge that I rarely heard. "Am I right, Miss Becker?"

I strained to hear her response, her voice softer but clear. "Uh, no. I look forward to being Viscount William's caregiver—if that is what he wants."

I couldn't see them, but I could imagine the way Mother would be reacting. "Darling...why are you taking her side? You are my husband!" she exclaimed, the familiar sound of her fanning herself with exaggerated emotion.

Father's response was calm but firm. "Lady Beatrice, why don't you buy something nice for yourself to calm down? We can talk about this later."

Mother's voice brightened unnaturally. "Okay!" The sound of coins and bills exchanging hands echoed faintly. Father must have given her money to distract her. Typical.

I heard the front door close and then silence.

My heart pounded in my chest as I wheeled myself towards the rosewood door, trying to calm the turmoil inside me. I had spent almost my entire life hiding from the world, away from the prying eyes and whispered pity of the public. The thought of yet another caregiver's rejection being thrust upon me was suffocating.

As I entered the foyer and saw Father on his knees, pleading with Miss Claire Becker, I felt a strange mix of emotions—astounded at the serious offence that could result in social ostracism and an unexpected flicker of hope. Would she stay? Would she be any different from the others?

"My lord, I will gladly take the position, but is it not up to Viscount William who gets to take care of him?" Her words surprised me. No one had ever considered my opinion before.

I cleared my throat. I knew it was time to make my presence known. I moved closer, making sure my approach was heard.

"William?" Father sounded shocked. "What are you doing out of your room?"

I looked directly at Miss Becker, finding her eyes again. "Is Miss Becker...staying?" I asked, my voice softer than he intended. I watched her face, noting the surprise and then the warmth in her smile. It was disarming, almost making me forget my usual guardedness.

"Only if you want me to," she replied quickly, stepping closer. There was something in her eyes—genuine care, perhaps—that made him feel seen, not as an invalid, but as a person.

The sincerity in her voice struck a chord within me.  "I do not mind," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, but my heart wasn't entirely in it as a feeling of cautious warmth spread through me. The truth was, I was curious. Miss Becker was different; she didn't look at him with pity or disdain. There was respect in her gaze, a rare and precious thing.

As Father declared the decision final, my eyes met Miss Becker's again. I wanted to believe she was sincere, that she wouldn't be like the others who had come and gone, leaving me feeling more isolated each time.

When Father and Miss Becker exchanged smiles, I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, a rare and unexpected sensation, a flicker of something I had not felt in a long time—hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, things might start to change. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.