The Witmore mansion was silent, except for the soft hum of the heating system. Outside, the wind rattled against the tall windows, but inside, the air was warm—too warm for Grace, who had been on her feet for 14 straight hours. She adjusted her teal maid’s uniform and rubbed her forearm through the yellow cleaning gloves. The skin beneath stung, where the bruise from earlier was beginning to darken.
She had learned to keep her head down, to swallow her words when the tone in the house turned sharp. But tonight—tonight was different.
The twins lay on a thin white blanket on the carpet, dressed in identical light-blue onesies. They were barely three months old—too small, too fragile for a home this cold in spirit. Grace knelt beside them, watching their….Read Full Story Here………………..
