Right there, on the perfectly trimmed lawn of his multimillion-dollar estate, his three sons were laughing—really laughing—while kicking a soccer ball back and forth with the housekeeper.
Ethan hadn’t heard that sound in over a year.
The woman kneeling on the grass was Emily Carter, twenty-four years old, quiet, polite, and nearly invisible most days. She had worked for him for almost two years, coming three times a week to clean the house. Other than a quick “good morning” in the hallway, they barely spoke.
And yet here she was, barefoot on the lawn, completely focused on his children as if she had known them their whole lives.
Something tightened painfully in Ethan’s chest.
Emily held the ball between her hands, slowly turning in a small circle while explaining something. The boys stood around her in a tight, excited ring.
Lucas, seven years old, leaned forward with bright eyes—an expression Ethan hadn’t seen since before their mother left the country. Noah, six, bounced in place, waving his arms and laughing. Little Ben, five, clung to the hem of Emily’s uniform shirt, cheeks flushed from running.
The scene felt unreal.