Later that evening, as Jane quietly folded linens in the laundry room, two of the other housekeepers walked in. They had been whispering about what had happened, but now that Kara's door was closed, they could speak a little more freely.
One of them, Lydia—a sharp-eyed woman who had been in the house the longest—gave Jane a half-smile. "We saw her," she said, lowering her voice. "She didn't scream at you. She didn't slap you. In fact… she cried."
The younger one, Mercy, nodded in disbelief. "We thought it was impossible. She's never listened to anyone before. Not even her father. But you—what did you do to her?"
Jane looked up from the sheets, her hands pausing mid-fold. "Nothing," she said softly. "I just… stayed."
Lydia leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. "You really tried. And after everything she did to you, you still care about her. You're either lucky… or just have a very good heart."
Jane smiled faintly, her eyes tired but kind. "She's hurting. Hurt people… they lash out. They don't always mean it. They just don't know what to do with all that pain."
Mercy exchanged a look with Lydia. "Well, we wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave. Most people would. But… it's like she listens to you. Maybe she doesn't even realize it."
"I'm not here to fix her," Jane said. "I'm just here to do my work… and maybe remind her she's not as alone as she thinks."
The room fell silent, the weight of Jane's words sinking in. Outside, footsteps passed briefly in the hallway—Kara's door opening, then closing again.
That night, Kara lay awake in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as shadows danced across it from the soft light peeking through her window. Her thoughts were far from still. Jane's words kept echoing in her mind—"I just stayed." And "Maybe they're also not at peace without you."
She hated how those words stirred something deep inside her—something unfamiliar. A kind of ache she had buried for years under her anger and sharp tongue.
Across the hall, Jane sat on the edge of her bed with a small framed photo in her hands—one she always carried with her. It was the only thing she had from those early days. Two tiny, wrinkled infants, wrapped in white hospital blankets. She didn't know their names. Didn't know where they had been taken. But she never stopped hoping. One day, she whispered in her heart, I'll know the truth.
The following morning, Kara surprised everyone by leaving her room early. She didn't speak to anyone, but she sat at the dining table and ate a few bites of breakfast, something she hadn't done in days. Alden noticed from across the hallway and said nothing, only nodded quietly to Jane in passing.
Later, as Jane was tending to the plants in the backyard, Kara approached slowly, her arms crossed.
"You like working here?" she asked stiffly.
Jane looked up, surprised by the question. "I've worked in worse places."
Kara scoffed. "Even after all I've done to you?"
Jane gently pressed soil around a flower stem before replying, "Like I said… you're not as alone as you think. Anger has a way of hiding the truth from us. But truth always finds a way out."
Kara looked away, visibly unsettled. "You speak like you know everything."
"No," Jane said, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron. "But I know pain. And I know what it's like to lose something so precious and never get the chance to say goodbye."
Kara flinched slightly, something in her expression softening—but only for a second. "You think just because you've suffered, you get to tell me how to live?"
"No," Jane said again. "I'm just telling you—you're not alone. Even when it feels like you are."
Kara didn't respond. She turned and walked away, but Jane noticed how her steps were slower, less defiant.
Meanwhile, Alden was in his office making a call. "Yes, I want a background check on Jane. Everything. Her family, her history, where she's worked. If she's going to stay here, I want to know who she really is."
As he hung up, his eyes landed on a photo on his desk—an old one, of Kara and Ethan when they were still small. His chest tightened.
There's something about her, he thought, something I can't shake.
Back in her room, Jane sat by her small window, whispering a prayer she had whispered countless times before.
"Wherever you are, my children… may you be safe. And may the truth find us… before it's too late."
Kara stood at the top of the stairs that evening, watching as Alden walked through the door, his steps slow and his tie loosened in a way she had never seen before. He looked… tired. Not physically, but emotionally. Like something was weighing heavily on his spirit.
He barely noticed her as he walked past, heading straight for his study without a word. She heard the soft clink of a glass soon after, followed by the unmistakable sound of a bottle being opened.
This was the third time in a week.
Kara descended the stairs quietly, her usual dramatic flair absent. She paused at the study door, hesitating for a second before lightly knocking. "Dad?"
There was a pause. "Yes?"
She pushed the door open slowly. Alden was seated at his desk, a half-filled glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes were on a photo frame he seemed unaware he was holding.
"You've been coming home late," she said carefully.
"I've been busy," he replied without looking up.
Kara stepped in, arms folded but voice softer than usual. "You've never been this kind of busy. Not the kind that smells like expensive scotch and quiet sadness."
Alden finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed from more than just the drink. "Kara, I told you I'm fine."
She didn't push further. Instead, she nodded and slowly backed out of the room, whispering, "Okay. If you say so."
But she wasn't okay. She felt… strange. Guilty. For once, her anger wasn't louder than her concern. Have I pushed him too far? she wondered. Is this my fault?
She returned to her room and stared at the mirror. Her reflection looked unsettled—conflicted. She bit her lip and sat on the edge of the bed. For the first time in a long time, she felt genuinely… lost.
What if everything I thought I knew is wrong?
Her mind wandered to Jane. To her calm presence. To the way she had spoken of her missing children. To the pain she carried, yet the strength she showed.
Who are my parents really? Why was I left behind?
Kara didn't want to be angry anymore. But she didn't want to be lied to either. She needed answers. Real ones.
She got up and walked to the hallway where the family albums were kept. One by one, she flipped through the pages—but something was off. So many photos… and yet, none from the first years of her life. No baby pictures. No toddler memories. Just a sudden appearance of her at around six years old.
She shut the album, her hands trembling.
Why are there no photos of us as babies?
Her mind raced.
Meanwhile, Jane sat alone in the staff quarters, gently massaging her tired fingers. She, too, had noticed Alden's late hours. The air around the house had shifted—heavier somehow. And when she had passed by the study earlier, she could hear him murmuring a name under his breath.
"…Job…"
Her heart skipped.
Could it be? No… it can't be… But why does that name still haunt me?
Neither Kara nor Jane could sleep that night, both haunted by questions that had long been buried—questions that were now beginning to claw their way back to the surface.