“Please don’t hate me,” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t hate you, Claire,” I said. “But I need you to tell me the truth.”

She swallowed hard, her throat moving with difficulty.

“Your father,” she began, her voice cracking. “He said he would take everything from me.”

“He told me you ran away,” I said.

“I didn’t want to leave them,” she sobbed, her hand clutching the hospital sheet. “I loved them from the moment I felt them move.”

I watched her face, the raw pain in her eyes matching the documents in my lap.

“Why did you come back?” I asked softly. “Why take the job as our housekeeper?”

“I had to see them,” she whispered, looking at the wall. “I just wanted to make sure they were happy.”

She paused, taking a ragged breath.

“I thought if you found out who I was, you would finish what your father started,” she said.

She turned her head to look at me, her eyes filled with terror.

“I thought you would ruin me,” she said.