I finish the bathroom and pack up my supplies, exhaustion weighing down my shoulders. It’s been the longest first day ofwork in my life, and I still have to drive across town to pick up Leo, then figure out dinner and homework and bedtime stories while pretending everything is normal.
As I head toward the service entrance, I catch a glimpse of Radmir through an open doorway. He’s on the phone, speaking in what sounds like Russian, his posture radiating with an intensity that once drew me like a magnet. For a moment, I allow myself to remember what it was like to have all that focus directed at me, to be the center of his attention instead of invisible.
Then I shake my head and keep walking. The woman who believed in midnight confessions and morning-after promises doesn’t exist anymore. I’m just the maid now, and he’s just the man who pays my salary.
Even if he’s also the father of my child.
The wealth surrounding me could tempt me to tell him, but it’s clear I can’t trust him. He lied to me about everything, so I’m not about to give him a chance to do the same to Leo. Most likely, he’d just pretend we didn’t exist. My heart seizes with the worst case scenario of him deciding he wants a son without the fuss of the mother. He’d have no trouble taking Leo from me with his vast resources.
No, he can never know about Leo’s existence.
I drive home through La Jolla traffic with the radio turned low, practicing the story I’ll tell Leo about my new job in a big house by the ocean with nice people and good pay. I’ll mention nothing about the man whose storm-colored eyes haunt my dreams, or the way my heart hammered when he caught me falling.
I’ll reveal absolutely nothing about the secret that could destroy the life I’ve built for my son.
The drive gives me time to process what just happened and review every detail of seeing Radmir again. His hands felt exactly the same when he caught me as they did when they pleasured me. The subtle scar above his left eyebrow that I once traced with my fingertip while he slept was still there. I know he was the man who gave me that amazing night, but I have to forget that. I have to pretend to forget it just as he is, though he’s probably not pretending.
Four years ago, in that hotel room downtown, he told me he worked private security. He said his name was Mikhail Petrov, and he was in town on business. I believed every word because I wanted to, because he made me feel like the only woman in the world for those few perfect hours. Now, I know it was all lies, constructed to keep me at an emotional distance even while he pulled me close physically.
The memory stings worse than his blank stare this morning. At least his indifference I can understand. Rich men like him probably have anonymous encounters they forget by morning. It’s the deception, the fake name, and the made-up identity that makes my chest ache.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I wait at a red light, imagining what would have happened if I’d confronted him today. What would he have done if I’d demanded answers about the lies, the promises he made while we were tangled in hotel sheets, and the way he made me believe I mattered? What’s the point? He made it clear I’m nothing to him. Less than nothing. I’m the hired help now, invisible and replaceable.
When I pull into the driveway of my aunt’s modest house, Leo comes running out with a drawing in his hand of a stick figure family standing in front of a house with a blue crayon sky overhead. The dad figure is notably taller than the mom and child, with dark scribbles for hair that look remarkably similar to Radmir’s.
“Look what I made, Mama? It’s us in our new house.”
I take the drawing with hands that don’t quite shake, studying the hopeful smile on the stick figure child’s face. “It’s beautiful, baby. Tell me about it.”
“That’s you, and that’s me, and that’s my daddy. He’s really tall, like a superhero.” Leo points to each figure with serious concentration. “When we get our new house, he’ll come live with us, and we’ll have pancakes every morning.”
The words make me flinch. My throat closes, and I swallow hard before I can trust my voice. “That sounds wonderful, sweetheart.”
Leo has never asked difficult questions about his father, content with the story I told him about Daddy being gone, leaving it vague, but lately, his classmates’ family drawings and Father’s Day projects have sparked a new curiosity about the man he’s never met.
“Can we make pancakes tomorrow, Mama? The really fluffy ones?”
“Of course, we can.” I ruffle his dark hair, the same shade as his father’s, and try not to think about how Radmir’s hands looked when they caught me, or how they might look holding his son. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home and start dinner.”
As we drive through the darkening streets toward our apartment, Leo chatters about his day at preschool, and I make appropriate responses while my mind drifts back to the estate and Radmir’s blank expression when he looked at me, along with the way he said “careful” like it was both a warning and a dismissal.
“Mama, do you think my daddy would like my drawing?”
The question catches me unprepared, and I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I think he would love it, baby.” In reality, I think he’d look right through it and Leo, but I can’t tell him such a cruel truth.
“Maybe I could mail it to wherever he’s gone to? Do they have mailboxes there?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I’m sure he knows how talented you are, wherever he is.”
The lie sits like a lump in my chest as we pull into our apartment complex. Leo bounces out of the car, clutching his drawing, and already talking about what he wants for dinner. I follow more slowly, my body aching with exhaustion that goes deeper than physical tiredness.
Tomorrow, I’ll go back to that beautiful house and clean his windows and dust his furniture and pretend we’re strangers. I’ll be professional and invisible and grateful for the steady paycheck. I’ll focus on keeping this job long enough to get caught up on bills and maybe even save a little for emergencies.
Right now, I can’t stop wondering what would have happened if I’d told him the truth four years ago. What if I’d found a way to track him down and tell him about the baby we’d created during one perfect night that apparently meant nothing to him?
I snort aloud, certain of the answer. My dreams would have been crushed that much sooner. Now, it’s too late. He’s Radmir Vetrov, and I’m just the maid who cleans his house. That’s exactly how it should be if I want to avoid any risk of losing Leo.
I make dinner while Leo builds elaborate structures with his blocks on the living room floor, narrating the adventures of various action figures who seem to spend most of their time rescuing each other from increasingly creative disasters. His imagination is endless, his joy infectious, and watching him play reminds me why I work so hard to protect this small, perfect world we’ve created.
