Ethan’s hands shook as he checked for a pulse.
There — faint, uneven, but there.
“Isabel, can you hear me?” he whispered, gently tapping her cheek.
She was barely twenty-six. Pale. Cold. Her uniform hung loose on a body that looked far thinner than he remembered.
“What happened?” Ethan demanded.
Noah clung to his shirt, sobbing.
“She brought us water. She said she felt dizzy… then she fell.”
Ethan dialed emergency services with trembling fingers.
As he spoke, he finally looked at his sons — really looked at them. Their faces were streaked with fear. When had he last come home before dark? When had he last eaten dinner with them?
“Daddy,” Lucas whispered, voice breaking. “Is Miss Isabel going to die?”
“No,” Ethan said hoarsely. “She won’t. I promise.”
That’s when he noticed her hands.
Raw. Cracked. Bleeding.
Hands pushed far past their limits.
And guilt crushed him.
Two weeks earlier, Ethan had fired the entire housekeeping staff — five people — under the excuse of “budget adjustments.” His company was more profitable than ever. He simply wanted prettier numbers for investors.
He kept only Isabel.
Because she was the cheapest.
She had begged to stay.