I had worked as a domestic servant for the Haldep family for the first three years. The work was exhausting, but the salary kept my daughter and me afloat.

After Mrs. Haldep died in a car accident, the house fell into an eerie silence, broken only by the laughter of the two boys, Caleb and Masopi.

His father, Russell Haldep, a technology millionaire, spent more time time traveling than at home.

Everything changed when Seraphia Vale arrived.

Russell met her at a grand gala: a woman with ice-blonde hair, a porcelain skirt, and a smile so perfectly controlled it seemed manufactured.

Six months later, she became his fiancée and moved into the mosque as if she had always belonged there.

To the outside world, Seraphia was flawless: elegant, soft-spoken, and charming. But behind closed doors, I saw cracks. Caleb started stuttering again.

Masopi refused to play outside. I noticed bruises on his arms, always hidden under long sleeves.

When I asked, Seraphia had already rehearsed explanations. They fell. They’re clumsy. Boys will be boys.

And Russell believed him, because believing in anything else would shatter his world.

Whenever she entered a room, the children fell silent. Their little shoulders tensed; their eyes clouded over. They stopped laughing. They stopped roaring. They became shadows moving from room to room.

I distorted Russell’s image twice. The first time, he ignored it. The second time, Seraphia was standing behind him, her blue eyes fixed on me. She told me not to make a scene.

Then came the light that changed everything.

I had left my wallet in the kitchen and returned to the bedroom around 10 pm. Russell was out of the house at a conference. The house was quiet, too quiet.

Then I heard it.
A muffled, faint moan.

He comes from abroad.

My heart was pounding as I ran. The freezer—an industrial-sized one—was locked from the outside. And the sound was coming from inside.

I ran to the garage, grabbed a hammer, and smashed the lock until it broke. An icy mist rose as I opened it, and on one side were Caleb and Masop, huddled together, shivering violently, their lips purple.

I took them out, wrapped them in my coat, rubbing their arms, whispering their names.

And then I heard her.

Seraphia stood in the courtyard doorway, dressed in a silk robe, with an oddly calm expression. Neither surprised nor horrified.

Just calculating.

Then he picked up his phone and dialed Russell, his voice suddenly hysterical.

She did it! She locked them in here! I caught her and saved them!

I froze. The boys were barely conscious. I had no witnesses. There was no time.

And she was an actress who deserved an Oscar.

A few minutes later, Russell burst through the door, his eyes wide. Seraphia rushed toward him, trembling, shouting her story. Every lie was uttered with perfect emotion.

When I tried to explain, Russell pushed me so hard I hit the wall. He told me to get out before he called the police.

I left with nothing but the guilt of having shot down two terrified children.

That night, I cried on my bathroom floor until something inside me hardened.

I wasn’t going to let Seraphia destroy those children.

During the following days, I delved into her past. “Seraphipa Vale” wasn’t her real name. She had married at 18. She had had two wealthy husbands, both widowers with young children.

One had died in a domestic accident. The other lived alone after suffering a nervous breakdown. He was under psychiatric care.

I visited him, Elliot Carroway. His hands trembled as he spoke.

“It crushed us,” she said. “It isolates children until they break.”

She gave me old medical files, police reports, custody documents, evidence that she had a boss.

Even so, past evidence was not enough to save Caleb and Masopi.

I needed something irrefutable.

I contacted the children’s pediatrician, Dr. Reard. He admitted he suspected abuse (weight loss, bruises, signs of stress), but Seraphia always had answers. He gave me copies of medical records that showed clear deterioration.

Then I met a lawyer, Rachel Montgomery, a fierce woman who had taken down powerful abusers. She told me frankly:

“Rich lies beat poor truths, unless you bring a lot of evidence.”

She ordered me to obtain an audio recording from inside the house.

Terrified, I bought a small recorder and rehearsed a piece.

When Russell left for another conference, I used my spare key and slid into the infirmary at 10 pm. Marcus, a private investigator I had hired, was waiting outside as backup.

Upstairs I heard Seraphia’s voice.

I crawled towards the boys’ bathroom and stopped dead in my tracks.

Caleb was slumped in the corner, holding heavy books above his head, his arms trembling. Masopi lay on the bed, staring blankly ahead.

Seraphia paced back and forth with a soft yet cruel voice.

“If you drop those books, Caleb, you’ll fall into the basement. And Masop… if you cry again, you won’t eat tomorrow.”

Every word was recorded.

Then he said something that chilled my blood:

Russell will sign the will soon. Andrew is preparing the paperwork. Once the boys are declared stable, they will be institutionalized. After that, freedom.

She described how she would slowly poison Russell and then disappear with the money.

Masoë groaned.

She grabbed his arm tightly.

That was the moment I exploded inside.

“Let it go!”

Seraphia went crazy. She threatened to destroy me legally, personally, and financially.

Then I held the recorder.

His face was devoid of color.

For the first time…
Seraphia Vale was afraid.