I FAKED A TRIP TO CANADA, SUSPECTING THE HOUSEKEEPER WAS HURTING MY DAUGHTERS
Chloe came home that evening still believing I was in Toronto, still believing her performance was working, still believing she’d marry into my life in three months and spend it quietly making my daughters small.
I was sitting in the living room when she walked in. In the exact spot where she’d terrorized my children that morning.
“Alexander? You’re home? I thought—”
“I never left, Chloe,” I said. “I’ve been in the security room all day. Watching.”
I watched her face do the thing Marisol’s had not done — flinch, calculate, scramble.
“Whatever you think you saw—”
“I saw you call my daughters brats. I saw you throw Sofia’s rabbit — her dead mother’s last gift to her — onto a shelf to make a six-year-old beg. I saw you grab her wrist. I saw Marisol, the woman you told me was a thief, put her own body between my children and you.
And then I watched three weeks of footage of you planting your own earrings and cash to frame her, so I’d fire the only person protecting my daughters from you.
