“Hey, your project’s done?” Alice forced a strained smile.
I didn’t have time for her pretenses. “Where is my daughter?” I demanded.
Three years ago, I had entrusted our home to Alice, asking her to take care of our daughter. And this was her idea of care? Letting her suffer like that?
Alice stammered, “She should be at school.”
I snapped, “So you forgot today is her birthday?”
Her tone shifted in an instant. She scoffed, “I’m preparing a surprise for her. What are you yelling for? You’ve been gone for years; I'm the one who’s kept this family together.”
How dare she sound so righteous?
Even while I was buried in research, I sent her money every month, at least a hundred thousand dollars, more than enough for her and our daughter to live well.
We even had a housekeeper. Alice didn’t have to lift a finger.
What exactly had she been ‘holding together’ when she couldn’t even protect our daughter?
“Is Carlos with our daughter?”
That voice in the video belonged to Carlos Tucker, the son of Alice’s so-called first love, Stephen Tucker.
He had been living in our house while attending school.