Within two nights, the twins slept without screaming.
One night, Daniel saw from a distance: Alma asleep in a recliner, Noah curled against one arm, Lucas against the other, all three breathing in rhythm like the world was finally safe.
Something stirred inside him.
He crushed it.
Feeling hurts, he reminded himself.
Trish, however, felt plenty — jealousy, anger, fear.
And she began her quiet war.
First came the rules.
“In this house, you don’t speak to Mr. Salgado unless he speaks to you. You obey. You don’t interfere.”
Then came humiliation when Daniel wasn’t home. Insults. Threats.
One night, Alma grabbed leftover chicken from the fridge after skipping meals all day. Trish knocked the plate to the floor.
“Pick it up,” she hissed. “And eat it like the dog you are.”
Alma swallowed tears. She needed the job. Her mother was waiting for heart surgery she couldn’t afford.
But the twins needed her too.
Then Trish crossed the line.
Overheated bottles. Ignored crying. Long hours alone in cribs.
One night Alma tried to tell Daniel.
“Sir… Mrs. Palmer is hurting them when you’re gone.”
Daniel looked at her like she’d insulted Emily’s memory.
“You’ve been here weeks. Trish is family.”
“Your sons are in danger.”