My daughter, Emma, had just turned four. My husband and I didn’t want to send her to daycare too early, but with both of us working full-time, it became difficult. My mother-in-law had helped for a while, but I didn’t want to burden her forever.
A close friend recommended a private home daycare run by a woman named Grace. She only looked after three children, had cameras installed, and cooked fresh meals every day. I visited, observed, and felt reassured. So I enrolled Emma.
At first, everything was perfect. I often checked the cameras during work and saw Grace treating the children gently and patiently. Sometimes I picked Emma up late, and Grace never complained—she even fed her dinner.
Then one afternoon, while driving home, Emma suddenly said:
“Mommy, there’s a girl at teacher’s house who looks just like me.”
I laughed softly. “Really? Like how?”
“Like my eyes and nose. Teacher said we look exactly the same.”
I smiled, thinking it was just a child’s imagination. But Emma continued, very seriously:
“She’s the teacher’s daughter. She’s really clingy and always wants to be held.”
Something stirred uneasily inside me.
