Since my wife d.i.e.d, my daughter hadn’t spoken a word. I came home early and froze: she was laughing with the new maid. “she’s a fraud,” my housekeeper warned, “she lied about her address!” furious, I followed the girl to a squat downtown. I stormed in to fire her, but what I saw inside the room made me drop to my knees…

Not a small smile or quiet giggle—real laughter, bright and carefree. She was sitting on the shoulders of our new housemaid, a young woman named Lena, while they washed dishes together. Soap bubbles floated around them like tiny balloons.

“Careful up there, Captain,” Lena teased gently. “Those bubbles might escape.”

“I’ll catch them!” Sophie laughed. “Mommy said I’m quick!”

My legs nearly gave out.

Lena noticed me first and turned suddenly. Sophie followed her gaze. The laughter vanished instantly. Her body stiffened, and the silence returned as if a door had slammed shut.

“Daddy…” she whispered softly.

Then nothing again.

I said nothing either. I walked straight into my office and closed the door, my hands shaking.

That evening, Margaret, our longtime housekeeper, knocked on my door.

“That girl isn’t who she says she is,” she told me quietly.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“She lied about where she lives,” Margaret said. “I tried sending paperwork there. The address doesn’t exist.”

A cold knot formed in my stomach.