Dysfunctional Dynamics

The Renshaw house looked perfect. Too perfect.

A white wraparound porch. Pale blue shutters. A small wind chime that rang soft, deliberate notes with the breeze. The kind of place designed to look lived-in without ever truly being touched. Even the grass looked measured, like someone combed it. It was the kind of house that whispered comfort—but comfort in a way that felt practiced, not lived-in.

Sabrina stepped out of the Uber rideshare, clutching her single rolling suitcase and adjusted her vintage jacket, brushing dust from her jeans. The late afternoon sun made the porch glow. It felt cinematic.

Keith opened the front door before she could knock.

"Miss Stockholm," he said, smiling like a politician. "Right on time."

He was shorter in person. They had conducted a video call for the initial interview when Sabrina was hired. Keith was polished. Handsome, but calculated. Like he'd studied what kind of smile made people feel safe—and chose it.

She nodded politely and followed him inside.

Sabrina shook his hand, firm but wary. His grip lingered half a second too long.

The air smelled like lemon cleaner and fabric softener. Underneath it—something faint. Something metallic and strange. The kind of smell you don't notice until you're too far in.

"Tonya's just finishing up lunch with the kids," Keith said. "We wanted you to meet everyone right away. You'll love the kids."

Sabrina's boots clicked against the hardwood as they passed through the pristine living room. The living room looked staged. No blankets on the couch. Not a pillow out of place. Not a single toy or sock or fingerprint. Only the hum of the A/C and a silence that felt wrong for a house with five children.

Keith turned to Sabrina with a performative warmth. "We're very family-focused here. Structured, but loving. We believe in discipline, but not rigidity. You'll find the children... spirited."

Then Tonya entered. She didn't extend her hand. Just stared. Tired. Quiet.

She moved quietly, carrying a half-empty mug and watching Sabrina like she'd already made a judgment.

She was a larger woman—broad-shouldered, soft-bodied, wrapped in a long cardigan that seemed to serve more as armor than fashion. Her face was pale and drawn with tiredness. But her eyes—sharp, flickering from Sabrina's shoes to her hair to the cut of her jacket—held something else. A guarded tension. Jealousy, maybe. Or threat.

"You must be Sabrina," Tonya said, voice neutral but cool.

"I am. Thanks for having me," Sabrina said, offering her best easy-going smile.

Tonya's gaze swept her again—how small Sabrina was, how put-together. A little too fashionable for a nanny. A little too comfortable in her skin.

"We'll call in the kids."

Keith stepped in again, leading them to the dining room. One by one, the children entered—quietly, almost rehearsed.

The oldest, fifteen, was tall, scowling behind her phone, earbuds in. She didn't look up.

The 13-year-old had a sharpness to him. He raised a brow like he was already planning something.

The 11-year-old, smaller than he should've been, stood half behind a chair, eyes downcast, arms wrapped tight around himself.

The six-year-old girl ran straight up to Sabrina. "You're pretty. You smell like flowers and soap."

And then came the baby, three years old and wide-eyed, dragging a toy by one hand, the other stuck in his mouth. He didn't speak—just stared at Sabrina like she was a character from a dream.

"This is Sabrina," Keith announced. "She's going to be helping us out."

The kids didn't speak. The fifteen-year-old rolled her eyes. The thirteen year old smirked. The 11-year-old glanced up, just once—enough for Sabrina to see the deep, dark shadow under his left eye.

Tonya shifted her mug between hands. "I'll show her the room."

The guest room was small, tidy, painted beige. Clean, but cold. No pictures. No decor. Just a dresser, a narrow bed, and a window facing the backyard.

"You'll have privacy," Tonya said, standing in the doorway. "We like things quiet at night."

Sabrina nodded, setting down her suitcase. "Looks perfect."

Tonya hesitated. Her eyes lingered on Sabrina's body—then her face.

"If the kids say anything... unusual," she said, voice soft but flat, "don't read too much into it. They have active imaginations."

She left before Sabrina could answer.

Sabrina sat down on the edge of the bed and exhaled. The room was still. But her gut wasn't.

There was something in this house that didn't make noise.
But it was definitely there.