“Don’t go to the basement.” That was all my boss said before he hung up. Just those few words. At first, I thought it was just one of his weird, mysterious orders — the kind he gave all the time, like a secret code only he understood. But later, when I stepped inside his house and his daughter whispered something strange about who — or what — was downstairs, I couldn’t stop myself from looking.
If you had told me six months ago that my dream career in architecture would turn into running errands and making coffee runs instead of drawing fancy buildings, I would have laughed right in your face. I was top of my class. I was sure my future would be all about floor plans and design meetings. But then I started working for Mr. Miles, and everything changed.
He’s a genius architect — no doubt about it — but being his assistant is like stepping into a whirlwind of strange orders and constant surprises. Take last Tuesday, for example. That morning, he threw his Porsche keys on my desk before I even had a chance to sit down and said, “Kara, I need you to take the Porsche to the mechanic again. And don’t let them swindle you this time.” Swindle? Like I was some kind of rookie who couldn’t handle a car.
By lunchtime, I’d already survived three angry calls from his ex-wife and delivered a very delicate pair of cufflinks to a dry cleaner he insisted was “the only one who doesn’t ruin silk.” Then, I had to pretend to be his “junior partner” during a meeting where I was supposed to present his designs to a client who looked like they had zero patience for me.
I was halfway through presenting Mr. Miles’ latest luxury condo project when my phone buzzed. Normally, I’d ignore calls from him during meetings, but this time, the screen lit up with Boss. I knew something was serious.
I answered, and he sounded tense. “Kara, I need you to drop everything and go to Chloe’s school. She has a stomach ache and needs to come home. Take her to my place, and stay with her until I get back.”
“Wait, what? Mr. Miles, I’m in the middle of—” I started.
“Now, Kara,” he snapped. “Straight home. Don’t go to the basement. It’s, uh, under repair. Got it?”
I wanted to argue, but the urgency in his voice stopped me cold. “Fine,” I sighed. “I’m on my way.”
When I arrived at the school, Chloe was curled up in the nurse’s office, looking pale and miserable. “Hey there, kiddo,” I said gently. “Let’s get you home.”
She barely nodded, clutching her stomach as I helped her into the car. On the way to Mr. Miles’ house, she whimpered softly. I tried to distract her.
“So, what’s your favorite ice cream flavor? I’m guessing chocolate chip cookie dough?”
She scrunched her nose. “Chocolate’s gross,” she mumbled.
I laughed softly. “Okay, strike one for Kara.” I smiled, hoping to cheer her up. Then she said something that caught me completely off guard.
“I need Rodger,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Rodger?” I repeated, confused. “Who’s Rodger, hon?”
“My little brother,” she said, her voice breaking. “But this morning, Dad left him in the basement.”
My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Little brother? Basement? My mind raced.
By the time we got to the house, I was already worried sick. I helped Chloe onto the couch with a blanket and some water, then crouched down beside her.
“Chloe, what do you mean Rodger’s in the basement? Is he okay?”
She nodded slowly and said, “Dad said not to let him out.”
My heart pounded. Against every warning bell screaming in my head, I marched to the basement door.
I took a deep breath and stepped down the stairs, ready to face something scary, like a scene from a horror movie. But instead, I was hit by the soft smell of lavender, the gentle glow of fairy lights, and a scene so warm and tender it stopped me cold.
The basement wasn’t dark or scary — it was magical. The walls were painted soft pastel colors, and whimsical decorations hung from the ceiling. In the corner stood a tiny, ruffled tent surrounded by plush toys and piles of colorful books. Dolls lined the shelves, each one perfectly placed, like they were waiting for someone to come play.
Before I could take it all in, Chloe padded softly down the stairs behind me.
“Chloe,” I said, my voice shaking, “where’s your brother? Where’s Rodger?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked over to a shelf and picked up a framed photo. Holding it out with both hands, she said quietly, “That’s Rodger.”
The photo showed a boy about seven or eight years old, with bright eyes and a mischievous smile — just like Chloe.
I knelt down beside her, my heart pounding harder. “Where is he now, sweetheart?”
She looked up and pointed toward the ceiling. “He’s up there,” she whispered.
It took me a moment, but I finally understood. “Oh… you mean he’s in heaven?”
Chloe nodded, her little face clouding over with sadness. “He got really sick with cancer last year. Daddy said he had to go where he wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
Tears stung my eyes as I looked back at the photo. All this time, I thought my boss was hiding some dark secret. But instead, he was protecting something fragile — his daughter’s memory of her brother.
Chloe tugged me over to a small table in the corner, where a simple frame held a crayon drawing. It showed a boy and a girl holding hands beneath a rainbow.
“Daddy made this room for me,” she said softly. “So I’d always have a place to think about Rodger.”
She beamed, spreading her small hands as if she were showing off a grand palace.
“My daddy made it for me,” she said proudly. “He built my princess room. Everything in here, he made it just for me. Well, we made it together, really.”
I knelt down and brushed my fingers over a tiny tea set carefully arranged on a miniature table. My chest ached as I tried to understand the man who was so cold and demanding at work — and this warm, grieving father who built this beautiful sanctuary.
“You helped him?” I asked gently.
She nodded, her curls bouncing as she smiled. “I picked the colors. And the sparkly lights.” Her smile faded a little. “It’s our happy place, so I don’t feel so sad about Rodger.”
Before I could stop them, tears spilled down my cheeks. Here was a little girl holding on to her brother’s memory with so much love, while her father — the man who barked orders and treated everyone like pieces on a chessboard — poured his grief into this beautiful, magical room.
The sound of the front door opening snapped me out of my thoughts. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house, and a familiar voice called out, “Chloe?”
She ran upstairs, and moments later, Mr. Miles appeared in the doorway. His eyes immediately narrowed when he saw me. “Kara,” he said sharply, “what are you doing down here? I told you not to come in here.”
I stood up, wiping my face, words tumbling out. “I… Chloe mentioned Rodger, and I didn’t know… she said he was in the basement, and I—”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is why I didn’t want anyone to see. It’s… hard for me.”
His voice cracked just a little, and for the first time, I saw the real weight he carried — the grief hidden behind the tough, demanding man.
Standing in Chloe’s “princess room,” surrounded by her father’s love and sorrow, I felt a sudden courage. “Mr. Miles,” I began slowly, “can I be honest with you?”
His sharp eyes softened, and he nodded. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve been thinking about quitting,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’m not really doing the work I wanted. Fetching coffee, running errands — it feels meaningless.”
He didn’t snap or laugh. Instead, to my surprise, he sat down on a small wooden chair by the tent and rested his elbows on his knees. The mighty Mr. Miles looked human, tired, and real.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ve been hard on you, haven’t I?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“You know,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “this is how I was trained when I started. My mentor believed in breaking you down to build you back up. I thought that’s what it took to make someone succeed.” He glanced around the room at the family photos. “But now… I see it’s nonsense. Really, it is.”
The air between us felt heavy, but then he straightened up, pulling a folder from his briefcase.
“Let’s start over,” he said, voice firmer but kind. “Here’s an actual assignment: review these blueprints for tomorrow. I want your input on the design. Are you ready to actually work?”
My mouth dropped open. Was this a test? A trap? But then I saw a faint smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He was serious.
I nodded, feeling a rush of relief and excitement. “Finally,” I said, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face.
He laughed shortly and stood. “Good. And Kara?”
“Yes?”
He glanced at Chloe’s drawing on the table. “Thanks for taking care of her. And for… sticking around.”
“Of course,” I said, smiling.
“Tomorrow,” he added as he walked upstairs, “don’t be late.”
