“Stop throwing a tantrum! Your father is going to come home and see what kind of girl you are!”
The furious voice boomed from the second floor of the mansion.
Paloma, the new housekeeper, stood motionless in the back doorway.
She could hear a little girl crying—a desperate, broken cry, full of anguish.
“No one can stand you anymore! Stay there and cry until you learn!”
A door slammed shut, the sound echoing throughout the house.
“Good heavens… what a mess,” murmured Célia, the most senior employee, who had greeted Paloma that morning.
“The lady of the house is in a bad mood again.”
“The lady of the house?” Paloma asked quietly.
“Mrs. Verónica—the girl’s stepmother.”
The crying filled the hallways again, shattering the silence.
“And the father?”
“Mr. Augusto—always traveling,” Célia sighed. “Listen, dear, this job isn’t going to be easy.”
But Paloma didn’t hesitate.
She ran upstairs, following the sound of sobs.
In the hallway, a blonde woman, impeccably groomed and elegantly dressed, came out of a room and slammed the door.
“You must be the new maid,” Verónica said, smoothing her hair with a forced smile.
“Perfect. I have to go. The girl is making a scene. Fine, she’s just exaggerating as usual.”
Without waiting for a reply, Verónica grabbed her purse and left the house, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume and an awkward silence.
The Encounter with Camila
Paloma took a deep breath and gently knocked on the door.
“Hello, love… can I come in?”
The crying subsided.
“I promise I won’t scold you.”
She opened the door slowly.
Inside, a little girl of about eight, with brown hair and eyes swollen from crying, sat on the floor hugging her knees.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Paloma said gently. “What’s your name?”
The girl hesitated.
“Camila.”
“Camila… what a pretty name. I’m Paloma. Why were you crying?”
Camila touched her stomach.
“It hurts.”
“Are you hungry?
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