I work for his wife. But I sleep with him every night. My name is Chloe. I clean her house.
I cook her dinner. I raise her kids. But every night after she falls asleep, I slip into his bed. And I don’t feel guilty anymore.
Three years ago, I had nothing. No money. No job. I lived in a tiny cold room with a broken window, hungry and scared.
I walked the city every day asking for work, but everyone said no. Then I saw a notice: “Nanny and housekeeper wanted. Good pay. Live in.
”
I called. A cold voice answered. “Come tomorrow at 8. Don’t be late.
” Her name was Alina. The house was a white mansion with tall trees and a huge garden. I felt small standing at the door. Alina was beautiful—blonde, green eyes, expensive dress—but she never smiled.
Her eyes were like ice. She looked at my old dress and my worn shoes. “You’ll clean, cook, and care for the children. I’m a busy woman.
No games. ” I nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. ” She turned away.
“Wash the dishes. ”
That was my first day. Every morning I woke at six. I made black coffee for Alina, breakfast for the kids, then cleaned all ten rooms until my hands hurt.
But I wasn’t hungry anymore. That was enough. The children were Leo, five, and Mia, three. Leo was quiet, hiding behind chairs until I pushed a toy car to him and he smiled.
Mia cried for her mother until I sang to her and she fell asleep on my shoulder. They were lonely, beautiful kids. Alina never played with them. She was always at the salon, shopping, at parties.
When she came home, she’d wave them away. “Take them, Chloe. They’re too loud. ”
So I became their mother.
I fed them, bathed them, read them stories, kissed their foreheads. They called me Chloe, but I loved them like my own. Mark came home late. He was tall, dark-haired, always tired.
The first time I saw him, he walked into the kitchen at 11 p. m. in a rumpled suit. “You must be Chloe,” he said softly.
“Please, call me Mark. ” He poured water, looked at the empty house. “How are the children? ” I told him Leo read a new book, Mia sang a new song.
His eyes lit up. “I miss them. I always come home too late. ” He thanked me for keeping the house warm.
Then he walked upstairs, alone. I learned they didn’t sleep together. Alina had the master bedroom with pink curtains; Mark slept in a small blue room at the end of the hall. They argued behind closed doors.
“You’re boring, Mark. This life is boring. ” “I work for this family. ” “I don’t care.
” They were strangers sharing a house. Spring came. I took the kids to the garden. We chased butterflies.
Sometimes Mark came home early, took off his jacket and shoes, ran on the grass with Leo, carried Mia on his shoulders. He looked happy. When our eyes met, he smiled a real smile. My heart beat fast.
But when Alina came home, she’d yell. “Look at the children—they’re dirty. Chloe, you’re a terrible nanny. ” The laughter died.
Mark’s face went hard. He went inside. The house turned cold again. One Tuesday afternoon, the kids were sleeping.
I was dusting the upstairs hallway. Alina’s bedroom door was slightly open. I heard her voice—soft, sweet, laughing. I stopped.
“Oh, David, you’re so funny. I miss you too. Same hotel, 1:00. Don’t worry about Mark.
He’s stupid. He works all day. He doesn’t know anything. I only stay for his money.
I love you. ”
I felt sick. She was cheating. She didn’t love him.
She wanted his money. I stepped back. My shoe hit a table. A vase rattled.
The door swung open. Alina stood there, phone in hand. She saw me. I froze, terrified.
“I’m sorry, I was just cleaning,” I whispered. She didn’t yell. She ended the call and smiled—an ugly smile. “You heard.
” She walked closer. “Yes, I have another man. Mark is boring. We stay married for the money.
That’s how rich people live. ” Her voice turned like a knife. “You will not say anything. If you tell him, I’ll say you’re a liar.
I’ll fire you, and make sure you never work in this city again. You’ll go back to the streets and starve. ” Tears came to my eyes. “Do you understand?
” “Yes, ma’am. ” “Good. Now wash my silk dresses. ”
I carried that secret for weeks.
Every time Mark smiled at me, I felt guilty. He was so kind. But Alina’s threat hung over me. I couldn’t lose the children.
I couldn’t be hungry again. One rainy night, I served Mark beef stew in the huge dining room. He was alone, as always. “Chloe, please sit with me.
I’m tired of eating alone. ” I hesitated, then sat beside him. We ate in silence. He stared at the rain.
“Elena went to Paris. With her friends. ” He laughed sadly. “I know about David.
” I dropped my spoon. My hands shook. “I’m so sorry, Mark. ” “I found out weeks ago,” he said.
“She threatened you too, didn’t she? ” I nodded, crying. “It’s okay, Chloe. I know how cruel she is.
” I asked why he stayed. “For the children. If I divorce her, she’ll take Leo and Mia just to hurt me. They’re my life.
So I let her do what she wants. But it’s so lonely, Chloe. ” A tear rolled down his cheek. I reached out and took his hand.
“You’re a good man, Mark. You don’t deserve this. ” He held my hand back. “Thank you.
”
That night changed everything. We became friends. When Alina was gone or asleep, we talked in the kitchen, in the garden, about everything—his dreams of building houses for the poor, my past of hunger and cold. “You’ll never be hungry again,” he promised.
Winter came. The heater broke. My room was freezing. I wore my sweater, but I shook all night.
Around 2 a. m. , a soft knock. Mark stood there with a thick blanket.
“It’s freezing downstairs. My room has a small heater. You should sleep there. ” I protested, but he insisted.
He even offered to sleep on the floor. But the bed was big. “We can share,” I said. I climbed in one side, he the other, respectful, far apart.
The heater hummed. “Good night, Chloe. ” “Good night, Mark. ”
I woke up shivering in my sleep.
Mark moved closer. He reached out and pulled me to his chest. His body was warm like a fire. I rested my head on his heart.
Thump, thump, thump. He held me tight. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need words.
That was the first night. From then on, the routine began. By day, I’m the nanny. I clean, cook, wash, care for the children.
I say “Yes, ma’am” to Alina. She doesn’t notice anything. She’s too busy with David, too busy with her clothes. She looks at me but doesn’t see me.
I’m just a worker, a machine. But when the sun goes down, everything changes. The children sleep. Alina shuts her pink door.
The house goes silent. Then I walk up the stairs, barefoot on the carpet, past the pink door, to the end of the hall. I open the blue door. Mark is waiting.
He smiles and opens his arms. I lock the door and fall into him. He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. “How was your day, my love?
” “Long, but perfect now. ”
We whisper for hours. We plan. “One day,” he murmurs, “when the kids are older, I’ll be free.
We’ll buy a small house near a lake—just you, me, Leo, and Mia. ” I trace circles on his skin. “I’d love that. ” We hold each other until we fall asleep.
When the alarm wakes me, I kiss his sleeping face, slip out, unlock the door, walk quietly downstairs. I change into my maid clothes. I start the coffee. I become the nanny again.
In the beginning, I felt guilty. I cried in the bathroom. I told Mark we had to stop. “I’m stealing another woman’s husband.
” He held my face. “You’re not stealing anything. She threw me away years ago. She threw her children away.
You didn’t break this family, Chloe. You saved it. You’re the glue. ”
I watched Alina laugh with her lover on the phone, yell at Leo for sticky hands, look at Mark with disgust.
And my guilt melted away. Why should I feel guilty? I’m the one who holds Mia when she has bad dreams. I’m the one who helps Leo with schoolwork, claps when he reads a new word.
I cook the meals, I listen to Mark, I make him smile. Elena is just a ghost with expensive shoes. I’m the real mother. I’m the real partner.
It’s a strange life. On holidays, they take family photos. Alina wears a beautiful dress, stands next to Mark, smiles for the camera. I stand behind the lens, watching them pretend.
It hurts. I want to stand next to him. I want to hold his hand in the light. But then Mark looks at the camera, and for one second, his eyes shift.
He looks right at me. His eyes say, “I love you, only you. ” And I’m okay again. Tomorrow morning, the sun will rise.
I’ll make black coffee for Alina. I’ll say “Good morning, ma’am. ” I’ll clean the big white house. But tonight, the night belongs to me.
It’s almost midnight. The house is silent. The wind is cold outside. But I’m not cold.
I’m walking up the stairs. My hand is on the doorknob of the blue room. I turn it. The room is warm.
The small light is on. Mark is sitting on the bed. He looks up. He sees me.
His face lights up with joy. He holds out his hand. I close the door. I lock it.
I walk to him. I am Chloe. I clean her house. I cook her dinner.
I raise her kids. But every night after she sleeps, I slip into his bed. And I don’t feel guilty anymore.
