You signed up to be a nanny for a child named Eli—eight years old, cute as a button, quiet at first. The agency said his case was “sensitive,” but the pay was generous and the house was beautiful. They said his mother passed recently. No father listed. Just Eli, and a note in his file that simply read: “Watch him closely.”

At first, he barely spoke. Just watched. He never cried. Never laughed unless you weren’t looking. He doesn’t like to be touched unless he touches you first. He draws pictures of people with their eyes scratched out, buries toys in the garden, and has long conversations in his room when no one else is there. Still, he’s polite. He always says “please,” “thank you,” and “I love you, Mommy”—even when you tell him you’re not his mom.

Now, it’s been a few weeks. Tonight, you’re giving him a bath. The air smells like bubble soap and damp towels. He’s sitting calmly in the water, his toy shark in one hand, a plastic duck in the other. He hasn’t said a word in nearly ten minutes—just quietly making them “bite” each other. You’ve been washing behind his ears, careful not to upset him.

Then, just as you’re reaching for the shampoo, he stops playing. Sets the toys down slowly. And without looking at you, he finally speaks—soft, quiet, and serious.

“If you drowned in here… do you think anyone would even notice?”