Recently, it was my daughter’s birthday. I was overseas negotiating a business deal and couldn’t make it back in time, so I entrusted someone to deliver a limited edition Labubu doll to her as a gift.
But over the past couple of days, I saw something strange on social media. The son of our nanny had been bragging non-stop, posting photos of a Labubu his mother supposedly gave him.
And the doll in those photos—it looked exactly like the one I’d carefully selected for my daughter. Down to the limited edition design, and even the signature on it appeared to match.
Suspicious, I video-called my daughter to ask if she had received my gift.
She hesitated, nodded vaguely—then I overheard something that made my blood run cold. In the background, a teacher at her kindergarten was scolding her harshly.
"A maid’s child has no right to steal Zion’s toy! If you dare to touch it again, I’ll break your hands!"
Terrified, my daughter abruptly hung up.
I tried contacting the teacher to find out what happened, but when I checked the parent group chat, I discovered I had been removed by the teacher a long time ago.
Without hesitation, I called my secretary and told her to book me the next flight to Kyoto.
As soon as I arrived, I snuck into the kindergarten. What I saw made my heart freeze with rage.
That teacher was slapping my daughter across the face—hard—cursing her as a "lowborn brat" and saying she should be grateful to Zion’s mother for even letting her attend such a prestigious kindergarten.
——
I saw the red handprint across my little girl’s cheek and lost all control.
I charged forward and shoved the teacher to the ground.
"Who are you?!" she shrieked, looking up in shock.
My daughter immediately ran into my arms, hugging my leg tightly. "Mommy, you’re finally back!"
Only then did the teacher react. She pointed at me and asked, "You’re Zion’s nanny?"
Nanny?
I froze.
When did I become someone else’s nanny?
I snapped back furiously, "Nanny? I have no idea who this ‘Zion’ even is!"
The teacher sneered, eyes scanning my designer outfit. “Still putting on airs? A nanny wearing knock-offs, huh? Trying too hard.”
I couldn’t understand why this teacher was being so openly hostile. I reached for my phone to call someone—but before I could, she summoned a few security guards who snatched the phone right out of my hand.
"Don’t bother trying to call Madam Sanchez for help," the teacher smirked. "Word is, she’s about to fire you anyway. You’d better take your daughter and withdraw her from the school while you still can."
My brows furrowed in disbelief as I stared at her arrogant face. I raised my hand, my tone cold as I spat, "For the last time—I’m not the Sanchez family’s nanny. Return my phone. Or you’ll regret this."
She laughed mockingly. "Still playing tough, huh? Fine—let’s settle this right now."
She called out to the so-called Zion.
When the boy arrived, the teacher asked, "Is this your nanny?"
Without missing a beat, he said confidently, "Yes. That’s her."
I was completely speechless.
This so-called Zion was actually the son of my nanny. Since when did he start using the Sanchez family name? I could’ve sworn his name was Zion Jones.
Suddenly, a hint of epiphany occurred to me.
The kid showing off the Labubu doll on social media—it was him. He had stolen my daughter’s birthday gift!
I crossed my arms and glared at him coldly. "Zion, care to explain what you’re doing?"
Instead of admitting anything, he clung to the teacher’s arm and whispered, "Teacher, this woman is our maid. My mom says she’s always sneaking around and stealing things."
The teacher let out an exaggerated “Ohhh,” as if she had just solved a mystery. She gave my daughter a scornful look and muttered, "Like mother, like daughter—stealing Zion’s Labubu. Tsk. Disgusting."
