Sarah wore a simple navy uniform with white trim and a starched apron. Bright yellow rubber gloves still covered her hands—so ordinary they looked almost absurd in a mansion where everything else was expensive.
Sarah wasn’t cleaning.
Sarah was dancing.
“Up we go, Captain!” she said, making airplane sounds. “Let’s catch that cloud!”
Lily threw her head back, laughing openly, clapping Sarah’s shoulders, reaching for a palm leaf dangling from the ceiling like a secret.
Her eyes—once dull and distant—were shining.
There was no fear.
No trauma.
Just a living child.
Ethan’s knees went weak.
He grabbed the doorframe, knuckles white, clinging to wood as if it were the only real thing left in the world.
His daughter… happy.
Happy in the arms of someone he barely greeted in passing.
Gratitude flooded him—followed by a sharp, shameful stab of jealousy. In that moment, he felt like a stranger in his own child’s life.
Mesmerized, he stepped forward—
—and kicked a metal watering can lying on the floor.
The crash exploded against the glass walls.
Lily’s laughter stopped instantly.
Sarah turned, pale, panic flashing across her face—the panic of someone who knows their job depends on never crossing invisible lines.