10/22/2025
đ MILLIONAIRE DISCOVERS MAID BREASTFEEDING BABY AND ACTS IN A WAY NOBODY ANTICIPATED Alejandro Mendozaâs voice cut through the silence like a knife. His Italian shoes stopped on the polished marble of his penthouse in the Zona Rosa, the leather briefcase slipping from his right hand. Camila VĂĄzquez looked up from the beige velvet armchair, her dark eyes filling with pure panic. In her arms, wrapped in a pink blanket, a newborn baby nursed peacefully. The yellow cleaning gloves still hung from Camilaâs wrists, contrasting with the tenderness of the moment. âMr. Mendoza, I didnât expect you back from SĂŁo Paulo so soon,â she stammered instinctively, holding the little one tighter. Alejandro stood frozen. At 34, he had built an import empire from nothing, transforming his familyâs coffee connections in Chiapas into a multinational business. He had negotiated with ruthless executives, navigated financial crises, and survived two divorces. But thisâthis left him speechless. âYou have a baby,â he finally said. It wasnât a question. âHer name is Isabela. Sheâs three weeks old,â Camila replied, lifting her chin with that quiet dignity he had admired in her during the two years she had worked in his home. The apartment, usually spotless and silent like a museum, now had a diaper bag beside the glass coffee table. A portable crib sat discreetly in the corner, almost hidden behind the grand piano Alejandro never touched. âWhy didnât you tell me you were pregnant?â Camila closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering strength. When she opened them, Alejandro saw years of exhaustionâresponsibilities weighing on shoulders far too young. âBecause I need this job, sir. My family in Oaxaca depends on what I send them. My father can no longer work the fields as before, and my motherâs diabetes medicine costs more every month.â The brutal honesty of her words hit him. For two years, Camila had kept his household running like clockwork. She arrived at 6 a.m., left at 6 p.m. She prepared his favorite meals without him asking. She knew exactly how he liked his shirts ironed. She kept the plants alive in an apartment where everything used to dieâand he knew nothing about her real life. âDomestic workers have the right to maternity leave,â he said slowly, vaguely recalling some article he had read. Camila let out a bitter laugh, humorless. âLeave, sir? I work by the day. I have no formal contract. No insurance. If I disappear for 18 weeks, by the time I return another girl will already be cleaning your house.â The reality struck him like a slap. Alejandro had assumed everything was fine because he paid her wellâbetter than average. He had never stopped to think about the legal details, the actual security he did or didnât provide. âAnd the father?â he asked carefully, as if walking on a minefield. âRicardo Sandoval disappeared when he found out I was pregnant. Said it wasnât his problem.â Isabela stirred in her motherâs arms, making tiny sounds. Camila adjusted her with expert movements, humming a song Alejandro didnât recognizeâprobably a Zapotec lullaby she had learned from her grandmother. Alejandroâs phone vibrated. A message from his lawyer: âImmigration audit scheduled for domestic employees next week. I hope everything is in order.â The timing was cruelâor perfectâdepending on how one looked at it. âCamila,â Alejandro said slowly, âwe need to talk.â She nodded, bracing herself for the worst. She had lived this scene before in other homes with other familiesâthe moment reality became too complicated, too human, for her employersâ comfort...Read more in Comment or Most relevant -> All Comments đ¨ď¸
