I sat across from Maria in the kitchen, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had long gone cold. The house was quiet except for the faint beeping of Ellie's heart monitor upstairs.
"Maria," I said softly, "if there's something you know, something you've seen... please tell me."
She looked up, her weathered hands trembling slightly as she smoothed her apron. "I've been... collecting things, Mrs. Morgan. Things that don't belong here."
"Things?"
She nodded, then stood abruptly. "Wait here."
I watched as she disappeared down the hallway toward the small room off the kitchen that served as her quarters. She returned moments later with a small cardboard box.
"I didn't want to say anything before," she whispered, setting the box on the counter between us. "But after what happened to Miss Ellie..."
She opened the box, revealing its contents: a collection of small items that made my stomach twist into knots.
"These toys," Maria said, pointing to several expensive-looking action figures and a futuristic race car. "They don't belong to Miss Ellie. They're too old for her anyway."
I picked up one of the toys—a detailed superhero figure still in its original packaging. The price tag was still attached: $89.99.
"And this," Maria continued, pulling out a silk scarf in vibrant colors I'd never wear. "I found it in the master bathroom. And these..." She produced several photographs of women's clothing left draped over chairs in our bedroom.
My bedroom. With Derek.
"There's more," Maria said, her voice barely audible. She reached into the box again and pulled out several crayon drawings—childish renderings of houses and families.
"Look at the names," she urged.
I examined the drawings closer. In the corner of each one, a childish scrawl: "James Perez."
"Perez?" I echoed.
"One of the women," Maria said. "She comes often. Her son too."
My hands trembled as I set the drawings down. "Where did you get these?"
"They were left in the playroom. Miss Ellie found them and brought them to me. She said the big boy tore up her drawings."
I felt sick, imagining my daughter watching another child destroy her artwork while Derek did nothing.
"I need to see more," I said, standing abruptly. "The security system—we have cameras everywhere."
Maria nodded, relief washing over her features. "I thought you might want that."
I moved to my home office and opened my laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as I accessed our home security system. The program loaded, revealing multiple camera feeds throughout our property.
"How far back does this go?" I asked Maria, who hovered nervously behind me.
"Three months," she replied. "That's when Mr. Derek had the new system installed."
My blood ran cold. Three months ago—right before my extended trip to Europe.
I scrolled through the footage, heart pounding as I spotted Derek entering our front door with a woman I'd never seen before. She was beautiful, with long dark hair and expensive clothes. A small boy—perhaps four or five years old—clung to her hand.
"Stephanie," Maria whispered. "That's her name."
I watched as Derek welcomed them inside, his hand lingering on Stephanie's lower back in a gesture too intimate for mere acquaintances.
"This was when?" I asked.
"Last week," Maria replied. "While you were in London."
I fast-forwarded through more footage, each scene more damning than the last. Derek and Stephanie cooking in my kitchen. The boy running through our halls. Stephanie wearing my bathrobe in our bedroom.
And then I found it—the footage that made my blood boil.
The camera captured the playroom where Ellie sat quietly coloring. The boy—James—burst in, followed by Stephanie.
"Go play with your sister," Stephanie instructed her son, though her tone made it clear it wasn't really a suggestion.
James approached Ellie's drawings spread across the floor. Without warning, he grabbed one and tore it in half.
"No!" Ellie cried, her small voice tinny through the laptop speakers.
James pushed her aside and snatched another drawing. Ellie reached for it, but he shoved her harder this time.
"Stop it!" Ellie's voice broke as she started to cry.
The camera caught Derek entering the room, watching the scene unfold with a smile playing at his lips.
"Derek!" I gasped, as if he could hear me through the screen. "Do something!"
But he did nothing. Instead, he laughed—actually laughed—as James continued destroying Ellie's artwork.
"Boys will be boys," he said to Stephanie, who nodded approvingly.
Ellie retreated to the corner of the room, clutching the remains of her drawings to her chest, her small shoulders shaking with sobs.
I slammed my laptop closed, unable to watch anymore, rage and heartbreak warring within me.
"He let them hurt her," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "My own husband."
