A sound broke the spell.
A metal watering can slipped from Michael’s hand and clattered against the stone.
The laughter stopped.
Aisha froze, instinctively lowering Lily to the ground, her body shifting between the child and the sound—protective before she even realized why.
When she turned and saw him, her face drained of color.
“I—I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I was finished cleaning. She just—she asked if we could—please don’t fire me.”
Tears filled her eyes faster than she could blink them back.
Michael tried to speak, but words tangled behind guilt.
Before he could answer, a voice behind him sliced through the room like a blade.
“Michael, what is this?”
Veronica.
Tall, composed, flawless—the woman he had been seeing for nearly a year. Her tone was calm, but her eyes were knives.
She took in the dirt on the floor, the yellow gloves hanging from Aisha’s wrists, the child standing too close to the help.
“She’s getting attached,” Veronica said with an icy little smile. “That’s dangerous.”
Aisha flinched.
Michael opened his mouth to intervene, but Lily stepped forward first—small, shaking, but defiant—and clutched the hem of Aisha’s dress.
The gesture was wordless, but it said everything.
Mine. Safe. Don’t.
Veronica’s lips curled. “You see?” she said. “You let staff forget their place, and suddenly affection turns into entitlement.”
Michael’s chest burned. He saw, in that moment, exactly what his daughter saw every day—a world of control disguised as care.
And something inside him broke open.
CHAPTER THREE: THE TAPES
That night, Michael didn’t sleep.
He sat in his study, surrounded by the cold blue glow of his security screens.
He told himself he was checking the cameras for safety.
The truth? He was looking for answers.
He rewound the footage, days back, frame by frame.
And the house told him the truth.
There was Veronica, perfect smile gone, voice sharp and impatient.
Lily, standing small, shoulders slumped, eyes on the floor.
“If you’re not hungry, don’t waste food,” Veronica snapped.
Michael watched Lily flinch at the tone—not a slap, but something worse. Fear.
Then, another recording.
Aisha again.
Kneeling to Lily’s level. Never towering. Never rushing.
Cutting her sandwich in half and quietly sliding the bigger piece to the child.
Humming while braiding Lily’s hair. Whispering, “You’re safe, baby. I’m right here.”
Michael’s throat closed.
The next clip gutted him.
Veronica stood over Lily, her arms crossed.
Lily was clutching a stuffed rabbit, rocking slightly.
“Stop that,” Veronica said coldly. “You look pathetic.”
Lily froze. Then went completely still.
That was the moment, Michael realized, his daughter learned silence was safer than truth.
He slammed the laptop shut.
He couldn’t breathe.
The woman he had loved—planned to marry—was breaking what was left of his child.
And the woman he barely noticed was saving her.
CHAPTER FOUR: THE CHOICE
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