Life had been hectic, juggling work and three kids, so hiring Emma as our babysitter felt like a blessing. She was great with the kids and even helped around the house. Everything seemed perfect—until yesterday.
Coming home early, I found the house eerily quiet. Emma, dripping wet and clutching a towel, mumbled about cleaning up a juice spill. Moments later, my husband appeared, brushing off my concerns. “It’s just a shower,” he said, defending Emma’s use of our bathroom with unsettling casualness.
I confronted him, but he insisted I was overreacting. Retreating to my car, I couldn’t shake the suspicion. Was this innocent—or the start of something far more troubling? My once-safe home now felt like a stranger’s.
