Elaine stood in the kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, laughing softly. “Do not worry,” she said. “If anything goes missing, they will blame the help. They always do.”
The words settled in my chest like lead.
I continued watching. Yolanda skipping meals, drinking water at the sink instead. Yolanda repairing torn pajamas with her own sewing kit. Yolanda picking up loose coins and placing them carefully into the boys’ piggy bank.
The final recording broke what was left of my certainty.
It was the night before I fired her. The heater in the playroom had failed. Yolanda lay asleep on the floor, one arm around Tyler and the other around Owen, her coat draped over them for warmth.
She was not stealing from my home. She was protecting my children.
The next morning, I went to her address. A modest apartment near the edge of the city. When she opened the door and saw me, her expression did not change.
“I came to apologize,” I said immediately.
She listened as I told her everything, the footage, the lies, the conclusions I had drawn. When I finished, she said calmly, “I knew you would find it eventually.”
“Why did you never defend yourself,” I asked.