The boys were holding the maid like they were afraid someone would rip her away.
The boys were holding the maid like they were afraid someone would rip her away.
She sat on the dining room floor in her black-and-white uniform, sobbing into her hands while both children clung to her shoulders in their white pajamas.
Andrew stopped in the doorway.
His tuxedo was still perfect, but his face twisted with rage.
“Why are my sons calling you mommy?”
The maid looked up, eyes red and overflowing.
Before she could answer, the woman in the blue silk dress grabbed Andrew’s arm.
“Andrew, please,” she said quickly. “She’s been filling their heads with nonsense. She’s just a maid.”
The older boy turned, crying so hard his voice shook.
“No! She’s more like mommy! She sings us the same song!”
Andrew went still.
The younger boy wiped his nose on his sleeve and whispered, “The one Mommy sang when we were scared.”
The maid covered her mouth, breaking all over again.
“I shouldn’t have come inside,” she sobbed. “I only wanted…”
Andrew’s anger began to fade.
His eyes moved to her trembling hands.
On her wrist was a tiny scar.
The same scar his wife had from the night of the fire.
The woman in blue gripped his sleeve harder.
“Don’t listen to her.”
But Andrew was already staring at the maid like the room had vanished.
His voice came out barely alive.
“Finish the song.”
The maid shook her head, crying.
“Please don’t make me.”
Andrew stepped closer, his face turning pale.
“Finish it.”
The maid looked at the boys, then sang the final line through a broken whisper.
Andrew stopped breathing.
Only one woman in the world knew that lullaby.
May you like
His wife.
The woman he buried three years ago.
