After two years of conducting research in Antarctica, I finally had the chance to video call my daughter.

"Mom, I miss you so much."

Her voice pulled at my heartstrings, and just as I was about to tell her when I'd be coming home, I noticed the bruises peeking from under her sleeve. No matter how hard I prodded, all she could say was, "I miss you."

After hanging up, I grew increasingly restless and couldn't resist calling my husband to ask about it. He sounded irritated: "She's always running around like a wild child. Scrapes and bruises are normal for kids. Why is she acting so pitiful?"

"You’re the one making a big deal out of nothing. You're spoiling her!"

But the next minute, I saw that my husband's adopted son had posted a new flashy video on social media. In the video, he and my husband were posing together, as close as father and son. In the background was a piano, battered and bent, the very piano I had gone to great lengths to ship across several countries last year as a birthday gift for my daughter!

These inconsistencies left me uneasy, and even more troubling was my husband's indifferent attitude.

---

The video made my anger almost impossible to control. Our daughter was hiding and crying in a storage room, while he, supposedly her father, found the time to show off with his adopted son?

Before leaving, Ulises promised me, with utter conviction, that he would take good care of Harper—is this how he keeps his promise?!

Harper's tearful "Mom, I miss you" echoed painfully in my mind, like a knife through my heart.

Our research team had made significant progress in Antarctica, and we were scheduled to return home next Tuesday. But after today's unsettling discoveries, waiting was no longer an option. I briskly booked a ticket for tonight.

I needed to see for myself what my daughter had been enduring at home while I was away!

The return journey seemed unbearably slow despite the long hours; once I landed, I immediately hailed a cab and reached home by five in the morning.

I expected the house to be silent at this hour. But as soon as I stepped inside, I heard noises coming from the kitchen. The housekeeper usually starts breakfast around seven to match the school schedule, so the meal is perfectly timed. Why was she starting early today?

Curious, I quietly made my way to the kitchen, hoping to ask the housekeeper about our family’s situation without waking Harper.

But upon entering the kitchen, the small figure washing and chopping vegetables was far from the housekeeper—it was my daughter, the one I've missed so dearly!

She stood on tiptoe, shoulders hunched, alarmingly thin, focusing solely on chopping vegetables without lifting her head. Two years ago, when I left, Harper was well-fed and plump. Now, her baby-faced innocence had vanished entirely!

Despite hearing footsteps, she didn't dare look up; even when the knife sliced her finger, she numbly continued her task, her hand bleeding steadily.

I finally couldn't hold back. I rushed forward, grabbed the vegetable bowl and tossed it aside, pulling her hand under cool water.

Harper was stunned, slowly raising her eyes to my face, and her eyes reddened instantly.

Outside the kitchen, the housekeeper's door was suddenly kicked open, and a middle-aged woman’s voice echoed with curses:

"You little brat, can't even make a meal without messing it up? Still daring to throw things around?"

"How dare you put on airs! You think you're something special…"

The rough, sharp voice sent shivers down Harper’s spine, and her breathing grew rapid and uneven, sweat beading on her pale face.

Seeing my daughter's sudden reaction, my heart sank. I quickly hugged her, whispering comfort:

"Harper, don't be afraid. Mom's here!"

The housekeeper stormed into the kitchen in her slippers, cursing, only to be stopped short by the presence of someone else. Instinctively, she shouted:

"You shameless little tramp, sneaking someone into this house? I'll skin you alive—"

I turned sharply, glaring coldly:

"Oh, really? Let's see whose skin you're going to peel!"

The kitchen light snapped on, and under the bright fluorescents, my face was unmistakably illuminated.

The housekeeper looked at me and hesitated for a moment. Yet she showed no sign of guilt or panic; instead, her eyes narrowed with displeasure:

"Ma'am, really, why are you home at this hour?"

Her words only fueled my anger:

"Do I need to inform you of my schedule?"

"Sylvia, do you remember your position? I hired you, not to boss around my daughter!"

"Am I giving you too much leeway? Who gave you the audacity to act high and mighty in my house?!"

I was stunned by her response. Not only was it shameless, but she had the nerve to mutter defiantly: "She's just a girl, and she’ll eventually need to learn how to serve her future family. I'm just getting her ready!"

"You disappear for two or three years, and come back just to pick fights."

I was livid, yet couldn't help but be a bit amused by her audacity: "You're lucky I've got standards and won’t waste my time arguing with people like you."

"You need to pack up and leave my house right now!"

Instead of backing down, she just got bolder: "Go ahead, fire me if you dare!"

"And you act like you're above everything? Back in my hometown, your mother-in-law would give you a piece of her mind!"

With that, she let out a dismissive snort and strutted back to the maid's quarters. Watching her arrogant retreat made my blood boil. How could a maid have such audacity, and why was Ulises allowing someone like her to bully his own daughter?

Fighting the urge to curse, I turned to comfort Harper, soothing her for bedtime: "Don’t worry, sweetheart. I'm here, and no one can hurt you with me around."

"Let's head back to your room, okay?"

Harper buried her head in my shoulder and nodded trustingly.

I held her tiny hand, ready to lead her back, but she didn’t move. She hesitated, glancing up timidly, her voice a whisper: "The room... it’s not that way."

I was puzzled. Then, helplessly, I watched her open a small nearby door and walk into a cramped storage space, curling up among old clothes.

Seeing this, my heart raced with anger, fists clenched tight. During our video calls, I thought Harper was just using the storage room for privacy—not that she was living there!

No bed, just a nest of old clothes. Yet she was my daughter, the rightful heiress of this estate!

Who dared push my daughter into such a miserable situation?

My temples throbbed with fury, but I kept a gentle expression: "Come, Harper—"

"We're not staying here. Mommy will take you back to your proper room."

I stormed up the stairs with Harper, kicking open the door to the master bedroom. The noise jolted the person inside awake, and he shouted furiously, "Who's crazy enough to interrupt my sleep?!"

I turned on the light, revealing a face all too familiar—Nash Howard, the adopted son Ulises had brought into our lives two years ago. I scanned the room, once decorated like a charming princess's chamber, now strewn with expensive sneakers and trendy gadgets, and couldn't help but let out a bitter laugh.

"So, tell me, which family's big shot are you?" I asked sarcastically. "You kicked my daughter out to sleep in a storage room and took over her space—Nash, who gave you that right?!"

Nash was three years older than Harper, and I wasn't thrilled about Ulises adopting a boy that age. We already had Harper; why bring more chaos by adopting someone else's child? But Ulises insisted he owed everything to our community, and with one family in trouble, he couldn't ignore the boy left behind. Under such circumstances, how could I stop him from fulfilling his duty?

However, I was resolved not to let an outsider take over the family space meant for my daughter. So, while adoption papers were officially filed, my true intention was merely to offer Nash a scholarship, ensuring his education, and even planning to secure him a job once he graduated. I believed I was being more than generous.

Ulises was relentless, though, bringing Nash home every few days. When my research expedition to the Alps came through, he insisted Nash should move in, claiming he was too busy, and Nash could be an older brother for Harper. Nash seemed kind-hearted and shy, and Harper liked having him around, so I reluctantly agreed.

Yet, in my two years away, this home had devolved into chaos. I was abroad, not gone forever! Nash looked momentarily startled to see me but quickly regained his cool. Instead of addressing my accusation, he frowned and muttered, "Kira, why didn't you tell me you were coming back?"

I laughed at his audacity. First the nanny, now him—did they think they owned the place? Did I need to announce my whereabouts in my own house?

With the sky still dark outside, I had no interest in a drawn-out conversation and spoke firmly, "You know I'm back now. We'll sort things out in daylight."

"For now, get back to the guest room and return this space!"

Honestly, I didn't even want him in the guest room. Nash was meant to be Harper's companion, but if he couldn't understand his place, he was no longer welcome here.

Nash seemed to have more to say, but my steely gaze silenced him. He retreated, mumbling, "Stupid woman, wait till my dad's back to deal with you."

I didn't care at all.

I swiftly changed the sheets and blankets, then snuggled up with Harper, ready for much-needed rest. It had been a long day, and the real reckoning would begin at dawn. As I drifted toward sleep, Harper, silent all this while, started to cry softly.

I didn't ask questions, just held her tighter.