Lina was twenty-four years old, she was a nursing student and worked three jobs. She spoke little, went unnoticed and never asked for a raise. She made only one request: to sleep in the twins’ room.
Claire despised her.
“She’s a lazy woman,” she whispered one evening at dinner. I saw her sitting in the dark for hours doing nothing. And who knows… maybe she steals Aurélie’s jewels when you’re not around. You should watch her.
Driven by pain and suspicion, I spent $100,000 on the most advanced infrared surveillance system money could buy. I didn’t tell anyone, least of all Lina. I wanted to catch her in the act.
For two weeks, I avoided watching the recordings, taking refuge in work. But one rainy Tuesday, at three in the morning, unable to sleep, I opened the encrypted transmission on my tablet.
I expected to see Lina sleeping.
I expected to see her rummaging through my things.
But what I saw was quite different.
The night vision screen showed her sitting on the floor between the two cribs. She wasn’t resting. She held Mathis, the fragile twin, against her bare chest, skin to skin, just as Aurélie used to describe him.
But this… It wasn’t the most upsetting.
This is only half the story…
Samuel was strong and calm. Mathis was not. His tears were high-pitched, rhythmic, desperate, like an alarm that never goes out. His little body stiffened, his eyes rolled back in a way that made my blood run cold.
The specialist, Dr. Adrien Vela, dismissed this as “simple colic”.
My sister-in-law, Claire, had another theory. She said it was my fault, that I was emotionally distant and that the children needed a “proper home environment”. In reality, she wanted control of the Beaulieu Fund and legal guardianship of my sons.
Then Lina arrived.
The girl no one noticed
Lina was twenty-four years old, studying nursing and working three jobs. She spoke in a low voice, went unnoticed and never asked for a raise. She made only one request: to be allowed to sleep in the twins’ room.
Claire despised her.
“She is a lazy woman,” she murmured one evening at dinner. I saw her sitting in the dark for hours doing nothing. And who knows… maybe she steals Aurélie’s jewels when you’re not around. You should watch her.
Driven by pain and suspicion, I spent 100,000 euros to install the latest generation infrared cameras throughout the house. I didn’t tell Lina about it. I wanted proof.
For two weeks, I avoided watching the recordings, taking refuge in work. But on a rainy Tuesday, at three in the morning, unable to sleep, I opened the secure transmission on my tablet.
I expected to see her sleep.
I expected to catch her rummaging through my things.
What I saw took my breath away.
The night vision images showed Lina sitting on the ground between the two cribs. She wasn’t resting. She held Mathis, the fragile twin, skin to skin against her chest, as Aurélie did to regulate an infant’s breathing. But it wasn’t the most upsetting.
The camera picked up a smooth, steady movement. Lina swayed slowly as she hummed a melody: the same lullaby Aurélie had composed for the twins before she died. It had never been published. No one else in the world was supposed to know her.
Then the door to the children’s room opened.
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