Chapter 4
"You were," I said. "As of this conversation, you're a woman I'm escorting off my property before my daughters get home from their afternoon with my sister and see your face again."
Ruben stepped forward without needing instruction. Patricia didn't fight it, not really, not once she understood the footage existed and that arguing would only extend the amount of time she spent being escorted out by a security team instead of walking out with whatever dignity she had left.
That evening, I sat on the playroom rug with Sofia and Camila, the same rug from the footage, and told them, in the gentlest way I could manage, that Patricia would not be coming back, and that if anything like what happened this morning ever happened again, with anyone, they were to tell me immediately, and I would believe them before I believed anyone else in this world.
Camila climbed into my lap without a word. Sofia leaned against my shoulder. "Is Rosa in trouble?" she asked quietly.
"No," I said. "Rosa is the only person in this house who never lied to me."
Rosa stood in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, eyes glistening in a way she was clearly trying to control. "Sir, I should have said something sooner. I was afraid you wouldn't believe me over her."
"I know," I said. "That's the part I have to live with. Not what Patricia did. What I let myself believe instead of asking the person who'd earned my trust for three straight years."
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I gave Rosa a raise that week that made her uncomfortable to accept and a permanent contract that made my attorney raise an eyebrow at the terms. I don't regret a line of it. Patricia tried, briefly, to spin a story to a few of our mutual acquaintances about an unstable, controlling billionaire who'd thrown her out over nothing. It didn't survive one week, not once Ruben's footage, sealed and time-stamped, ended up in front of the two people whose opinion actually mattered, my daughters' pediatrician and my family court attorney, both of whom recommended I file for a restraining order I now keep updated every year without fail.
Six months later, Sofia and Camila run to the door to meet both of us now, Rosa and me, without hesitation, without bracing for anything. I still think, some nights, about how close I came to trusting a stranger's whispered suspicion over three years of quiet, consistent love. I don't make that mistake twice.
