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A poor nurse helped a homeless man, unaware he was a rich man in disguise. Later, he returned to propose to her... đŸ˜±đŸ˜±đŸ˜±.....
07/17/2025

A poor nurse helped a homeless man, unaware he was a rich man in disguise. Later, he returned to propose to her... đŸ˜±đŸ˜±đŸ˜±... It all started with a shadow, a figure barely visible in the blurry rain outside the hospital. Emma had just finished a double shift, her mind clouded with fatigue, her heart beating in a thousand directions. The night was cold, but something else made her shiver. She couldn't explain it then, and even later, when all was revealed, she still wouldn't be able to explain why she went out instead of going straight home. There was just... a feeling.

A man lay slumped against the wall, soaked, motionless, as if the storm had left him there. Something about him didn't fit, not because he looked dangerous, but because he wasn't. That stillness, that absence of resistance, was too clean. Too intentional. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. Her eyes opened wide, unfocused but intelligent, and for the briefest moment, Emma had the strange feeling that she was being watched, not saved.

She called for help, and that night the hospital took in a nameless man. No identification. No history. Just bruises, silence, and a strange, penetrating calm. Emma asked no questions. She gave him soup. A blanket. A few crumpled bills from his pocket. "We all need help sometimes," she said softly, unaware that she had just changed the course of her life.

In the weeks that followed, she noticed strange things. An abandoned flowerbed where she sat during breaks. Fresh fruit appearing in the nurse's refrigerator without explanation. The man, still silent, still distant, was always nearby, watching. And yet, when she tried to speak to him, he offered little. Just a gentle smile. And then he was gone. Disappeared.

Until the night she came home to find her groceries stacked neatly on the counter. An envelope of money hidden under a bag of rice. A note written in precise, elegant handwriting: "Let me help you like you helped me." There was no name. No sender. No logical reason for him to know where she lived. Emma's hands were shaking. Her instincts were screaming that something was wrong, but not like danger. This was a different kind of evil. A secret waiting to be unwrapped.

And then, one afternoon, she saw him again. Standing in the hospital entrance. No longer ragged, but wearing a tailored suit. His hair was neat and combed. A bouquet of flowers in his hand. And eyes—those same eyes—watching her with a mixture of guilt and hope. What he said next would make her tremble. He wasn't who he said he was. He never was. And he'd returned, not just to reveal the truth...

FULL STORY –👇👇
https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/a-poor-nurse-helped-a-homeless-man-unaware-he-was-a-rich-man-in-disguise-later-he-returned-to-propose-to-her-%f0%9f%98%b1%f0%9f%98%b1%f0%9f%98%b1-it-all-started-with-a-shadow-a-figure-barely/

"Honey, what do you mean, divorce? You're in phase four! And the apartment? I won't be able to inherit it!" Pavel ran hy...
07/17/2025

"Honey, what do you mean, divorce? You're in phase four! And the apartment? I won't be able to inherit it!" Pavel ran hysterically around the room.
Elena slowly wiped the fogged-up bathroom mirror and froze, staring at herself. Her once-soft features had become sharp and angular. Her cheeks were hollow, her gaze dull; her eyes were dull and lifeless. The illness erased traces of her former life from her face, as if someone had erased her past with an eraser. "I need to call Katya," she thought. Her niece should know, no matter how hard it was for both of them.
The muffled roar of a soccer game came from the living room. Pavel, as always, was sprawled on the sofa, his feet up on the table. There were probably crumbs of potato chips lying around, his usual companions in the evenings in front of the screen. Elena took a deep breath, feeling an invisible weight on her shoulders. She closed her eyes; at least for a moment, she wanted to escape reality.
That apartment was more than just a place to live. She bought it long before Pavel showed up, paying the mortgage for five long years. She worked two jobs, saved on everything, ate simple food, and denied herself even the smallest things. She came home in the evening, just to sleep for a couple of hours, and then went back to work. When she made the last payment, she couldn't hold back her tears: these walls knew the price of her sleepless nights. All her work, her life, her perseverance were there.
She met Pavel by chance, in line at the cafe. He was charming, easygoing, attentive. Flowers, romantic dinners, affection... it seemed she'd finally found her man. But the illusion quickly faded. As if someone had flipped a switch. He stopped worrying about his own affairs, became distant, and became self-absorbed. Her feelings and desires ceased to matter. "Lena, have you paid for the internet? It's not working properly today," Pavel shouted from the living room.
"Yes, on Monday," Elena replied calmly. "Restart the router."
"It's far away. Come here, you're right here," he said in a calm voice.
She didn't object. She walked over and pressed the reset button. This would have irritated her before, but not now. After a visit to the doctor, even such trifles began to take on a different meaning.
"Stage four," the doctor said without looking her in the eye. "Metastasis to the liver and bones. We can try treatment, but we have to be realistic."
Elena nodded, as if she'd heard the weather forecast, not a sentence. She had always been rational. And now she simply started planning: a will, insurance, her niece Katya. Everything had to be clear. Everything had to be under control.
"Len, what's for dinner?" Pavel's voice came again. "I haven't cooked. Order something," she said calmly, sitting down in the chair.
"Spending money again? It's your day off. You could have cooked," he muttered, discontented.
She didn't respond. From day one, Pavel considered money his responsibility. He scraped by with odd jobs, making grandiose plans that he never followed through on. At first, she paid no attention; she was used to relying on herself. But over time, it became clear: he wasn't just lazy; he firmly believed he was entitled to that lifestyle.
"I saw the doctor today," Elena said quietly.
"Hmm?" Pavel replied without looking up.
"I have cancer, Pasha. Stage four."
He turned sharply, frowning, confused.
"What?"
"Metastasis. The doctor says I don't have many months left."
Pavel ran his hand through his hair, nervously.
"Well... medicine is very advanced now. Maybe abroad? Something experimental?"
"It's possible, but it's expensive," she said attentively.
"You have good insurance, right?" Pavel jumped up and began pacing the room. "And we have savings. We'll manage."
That's all. Even now—after those words—he wasn't thinking about her, or how to get there, but about money. For him, it all came down to numbers and surviving at her expense.
"Yes, we have savings," she nodded.
"Well," he was pleased as if nothing had happened. "That means there's hope. Everything will be all right. Hang in there."
He hugged her for a second and then pulled away, as if afraid of something invisible.
"I'm going. I urgently need to meet with Dimon. To discuss some work. Hang in there. I'll be back soon."
The door slammed shut. Elena was left alone in the silence of the apartment. Where the only sound was the hum of cars outside the window. A week later, everything became more evident. Pavel started staying up late, mentioning meetings that never materialized. He smelled like someone else's perfume and kept his phone screen down. Elena didn't make a fuss. Why? After the diagnosis, it all stopped making sense.
But one day, waking up in the middle of the night, she heard a whisper on the balcony.
"Yes, it'll be over soon." The doctor...

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There was a crazy woman who used to come to Adaeze's shop.At first, Adaeze was kind to her. She bought her juice and coo...
07/16/2025

There was a crazy woman who used to come to Adaeze's shop.

At first, Adaeze was kind to her. She bought her juice and cookies, and sometimes bought her food. But she became a regular visitor, and Adaeze became frustrated. This story is recorded in Amaka folk tales.

Adaeze tried everything she could to prevent the crazy woman from coming to her shop, but she was unsuccessful.

One day, Adaeze was yelling at one of her apprentices who had delivered clothes to one of her customers and hadn't collected payment for the clothes. Suddenly, the crazy woman appeared and said,

"Adaeze, calm down and take things slowly for the sake of your condition. You're stressing out that child in your belly."

Adaeze didn't even know she was pregnant. She went home and took a pregnancy test, and it came back positive. She was happy, but sad at the same time, because the crazy woman had revealed something that should have been a secret.

She wished no one would know until they saw her pregnant belly. A story recorded in Amaka folk tales.

She called her parents and told them about her pregnancy and the mysterious crazy woman.

Her mother warned her to be careful, but her father was very interested in getting every detail about her.

The next day, she returned, not to eat or do anything, but to apologize to Adaeze for announcing her pregnancy to everyone.

Again, this seemed like another wonder of the century to Adaeze, because how could a crazy woman apologize like this?

And so, she disappeared.

Days passed. Weeks. Then months. Six whole months.

She never returned.

At first, Adaeze was relieved. Then, unexpectedly, she began to miss her. Every morning, she glanced toward the corner where the woman used to stand. Her absence grew louder with each passing day. Adaeze found herself praying silently, hoping that the mysterious woman, crazy or not, was safe, wherever she was.

Adaeze's pregnancy journey wasn't easy. She was always sad and always crying. She suffered from excessive fatigue. She completely lost interest in activities she once enjoyed because she couldn't concentrate on anything. Anxiety and palpitations followed.

Her doctor told her it was prenatal depression, but they were managing it for her.

She was never happy and felt terrible about herself, but she kept going.

Then one morning she arrived at her tent, and there she was, standing in front of her tent.

"Adaeze, how are you?" the crazy woman asked her.

"I'm not well. I feel terrible," Adaeze replied, tears streaming down her cheeks. A story written in Amaka folk tales.

The crazy woman took a leaf out of her bag.

He gave it to Adaeze and said...

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Over the next few days, Jacob remained silent but constant. He rose early, fetched water from the stream, and left small...
07/16/2025

Over the next few days, Jacob remained silent but constant. He rose early, fetched water from the stream, and left small meals for Emily without saying a word. He never raised his voice. He never came too close. He simply worked. Emily began to notice things, like the precision of his movements, how he gazed at the stars before sleeping, and how he carved small wooden figures in the moonlight. One night, curiosity got the better of her. She walked over to where he was carving and watched from behind. His fingers moved carefully, molding a small horse from a block of wood.

He turned slowly and handed the horse to her without a word. Their eyes met for the first time, and something passed between them, a fragile thread of understanding. Emily took the horse, unsure how to react. It was the first kind gesture anyone had offered her in weeks. Her heart softened a little, though her mind remained cautious. That night, she placed the small horse next to her mattress before going to bed. It was a small thing, but it felt like a beginning.

The news began to spread through the village. The women at the stream whispered that Emily hadn't run away yet. Some speculated that she had also gone mad. Others said she was cursed. A few said she must be planning her escape. Emily ignored them. Now she walked toward the stream with her head slightly held higher, not because she was proud, but because she was beginning to see things differently. Jacob never spoke, but his silence had weight. His presence had rhythm.

One day, while she was collecting water, a group of women laughed and asked if her "madman" had finally rendered her mute. Emily just smiled weakly and walked away.

When she returned home, she found Jacob trying to split thick wood with a worn machete. She offered her help. He stopped, looked at her, and then nodded silently. For the first time, they worked side by side. He passed her smaller pieces, and she stacked them neatly. It was quiet, but not awkward. That night, when she handed him a cup of water instead of waiting for him to fetch it, he looked at her for a long moment before giving a small, gentle nod. She felt that was progress.

Days passed, and Emily began cleaning the shack out of habit. She swept the dusty floor, folded Jacob's mat, and organized the books in the corner. One afternoon, as she rearranged an uneven wooden board near the center of the floor, she noticed something odd. It moved. Curiosity piqued, she lifted it, and underneath, carefully hidden, was a worn leather journal. The pages were filled with small, neat writing. Her breath caught as she turned the first few pages. These weren't the ramblings of a madman. They were musings. Observations. Brilliant thoughts.

She sat and read until her legs went numb. The journal described the stars, the village politics, philosophy, and even inventions he wished he could build. Jacob had once been educated, possibly even wealthy. But there was pain between the lines. Betrayal. Something had happened to him. Emily held the journal tightly, as if holding a new truth. That night, when he returned from the woods carrying a small rabbit, she didn't take her eyes off him. She asked him gently if he had written it. He froze. His face changed. Then, slowly, almost in a whisper, he said yes.

After that night, Jacob began to talk—not much, but enough. His voice was soft, a little husky from disuse, but there was a sharp clarity in every word. He told her how he had studied engineering in the city, how he had plans for irrigation systems and tools that could help farmers. But after his father's death, a bitter dispute over the land left him betrayed by his own family. He came to the village to heal, but the pain, isolation, and betrayal destroyed him, and the villagers mistook his silence for madness.

Emily felt her chest tighten with emotion. She had judged him too. Now, every time she looked at him, she no longer saw a madman, but a broken genius trying to find peace. She began to tell him her story too: how her father died young, how her stepmother married her father and made her a servant. How marriage to Jacob was supposed to be a punishment. But she was beginning to see that perhaps it had been her salvation. That night, she didn't fall asleep immediately. She lay, staring at the small wooden horse next to her mattress, thinking—maybe this is fate in disguise.

Trouble came early one morning when Emily went to the market alone to buy vegetables.

Yusha had given her careful directions, and she memorized every step. But halfway there, someone grabbed her arm violently.

“Blind rat!” a voice spat.

It was her sister, Aminah.

“Are you still alive? Are you still playing at being a rat?”

READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/over-the-next-few-days-jacob-remained-silent-but-constant-he-rose-early-fetched-water-from-the-stream-and-left-small-meals-for-emily-without-saying-a-word-he-never-raised-his-voice-he-never-came/

The billionaire's father poses as a security guard to test his son's wife.The rain had stopped, but the storm in Amara's...
07/16/2025

The billionaire's father poses as a security guard to test his son's wife.

The rain had stopped, but the storm in Amara's heart continued to rage. She sat on the cold ground, her designer dress soaked, staring at Chijioke in disbelief.

"Chi... you can't do this," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Chijioke's expression remained hard.

"You did it yourself, Amara. I gave you love, loyalty, and a life of luxury, but you couldn't even give basic respect to others. I can't remain married to someone with such a cruel heart."

Ada, the maid, silently wiped her own tears, still shaken by what had happened. Chief Obinna stood firmly beside his son, his face expressionless.

Amara's sadness suddenly turned to anger. She bolted upright.

“You think you can just throw me away like trash?! After everything I’ve done for you?!” she yelled.

Chijioke sneered.

“Everything you’ve done for me? Like what? Spend my money? Look pretty for Instagram? Lie to me every day?”

Amara clenched her fists.

“You’ll regret this, Chijioke! Mark my words!”

She quickly entered the mansion, slamming the door loudly.

The Next Day

In the morning, Amara had already packed her things. But instead of leaving quietly, she made a scene.

As the maids and security guards watched, she dragged her expensive suitcases up the stairs, making sure everyone heard her last words.

“You all think you’ve won, right?! Don’t celebrate so soon!” Chijioke, you'll beg me! You'll realize you made a mistake, and by then it will be too late.

Chijioke simply crossed her arms.

"Goodbye, Amara."

With one last withering look, she got into her car and sped off, leaving a cloud of dust behind her.

Chief Obinna placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"She was never right for you, son. The true beauty of a woman is in her heart, not just her face."

Chijioke nodded, exhaling deeply. For the first time in a long time, he felt free.

But little did he know... Amara wasn't done with him yet.

Somewhere across town, she picked up her phone and dialed a number.

"Hello? It's me. I need your help... Let's make Chijioke pay."
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"I've filed for divorce. And also for property division. You know that half of your apartment now belongs to me, right?"...
07/16/2025

"I've filed for divorce. And also for property division. You know that half of your apartment now belongs to me, right?"
Alexey said it as casually as he commented on the weather.

Marina didn't immediately grasp the weight of his words. He was sitting at the table, a satisfied smile on his lips, a pile of documents spread out before him. Leaning forward, he watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

"Are you kidding?" His voice trembled, but he quickly calmed down. "Do you really think you can keep what you never contributed a cent?"

He shrugged, tilting his head slightly.
"The law is the law, Marina. We're married, which means everything is shared."

His tone was unctuous, lazily confident. A slight smile touched his lips, as if he were savoring the moment. However, Marina caught the nervous twitch of his fingers fiddling with the edges of the papers, an unconscious sign of his tension. But compared to the storm raging inside her, it was nothing.

That morning had started with wonderful news. Marina received a text message: "The documents are registered. Congratulations!" She stood by the window and cried tears of joy for the first time in a long time.

She had always known: having her own apartment was more than just a place to live. It was freedom. Freedom to close the door and live in a world where she didn't have to justify herself, apologize, or please anyone. Especially living with her mother-in-law.

Galina Sergeyevna, Alexei's mother, was a strong-willed woman with strict ideas about how her family should live. Every morning began with criticism: Marina slammed doors too loudly, folded laundry incorrectly, made coffee Alexei didn't like.

“Honey,” Galina said with feigned concern, the venom barely concealed in her voice, “maybe you should think more about your future instead of these ridiculous apartments. Look at Nastya, she's already expecting her third child, and you're still obsessed with work.”

Marina swallowed the comments silently. She worked as a freelance designer, saving every ruble, sacrificing vacations, restaurants, and new clothes for three years straight. Alexey never supported her ambitions.

“We're fine like this now. Mom cooks, cleans, keeps everything in order. You and your silly ideas.”

But when real estate agent Olga called to tell her about the perfect two-bedroom apartment in a new building—bright walls, a spacious kitchen, a park view—Marina rushed to see it. Now that apartment was hers. Or was it?

She stood by the kitchen table, clutching a cup of iced tea. In a far corner, a clock ticked away the seconds of her old life. Alexey sat opposite her, lazily tapping a pen on the documents. His eyes radiated a strange, brazen calm.

"Everything acquired during the marriage is divided equally. It's the law," he repeated.

From the next room came a muffled voice. Galina Sergeyevna appeared in the doorway as if she'd chosen the perfect moment.

"Alexey, have you talked everything over?" Her voice was gentle, but with an icy undertone. She entered the kitchen, leaning lightly against the doorframe. Her eyes shone with carefully concealed triumph.

Marina looked at her. Her thin lips pressed into a forced smile, her posture rigid, her gaze cold and expectant.

"Did you know?" Marina felt her fingers loosen; she had to grip the cup more tightly.

Galina took a slow step forward, with the grace of a cat stalking its prey.

"Honey, we're just thinking about your future. It'll be easier for you if you agree. No more... stress."

No more stress.

Marina laughed, but it was a dry, hollow laugh. They had planned this. Alexey knew she had worked tirelessly, saving every penny for that apartment. Now that they had reached their goal, he wanted to treat his work as if it meant nothing.

"So that's it," she put down her cup with a thud. "You were only with me for the apartment?"

Alexey smirked, leaning back in his chair.
"Don't exaggerate. It just happened that way."

But his fingers were still nervously tapping on the table.

Marina took a deep breath. Her anger wasn't a storm that made her scream or break dishes. It was cold, burning her from the inside out.

"You know I'm not going to let this go silent, right?" she said softly, looking him straight in the eyes.

Alexey smiled, but something flashed in his eyes... doubt?

Marina didn't move. In that moment, she realized she had always been a stranger in their house, a guest who was now being kicked out.

But they were wrong. She wasn't leaving empty-handed.

The next day, she took a day off and began to act.

Bank.
"Statements for the last three years. Everything related to this account." Her voice was firm, but her eyes sparkled.
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A millionairess hired a young man to take care of her garden, but she never imagined who he really was.The autumn winds ...
07/16/2025

A millionairess hired a young man to take care of her garden, but she never imagined who he really was.

The autumn winds blew the fallen leaves along the paths, forming playful whirlpools. Victoria, standing by the window, thoughtfully contemplated her neglected garden. Over the years, it had become an untamed maze of tangled bushes and tall grass, halfway between a forgotten forest and an abandoned lot.

"We have to do something," she murmured, speaking more to herself than to anyone else.

She turned on her laptop and opened her inbox. A message from Elena Sergeyevna, an old acquaintance from the business world, caught her eye. Elena spoke glowingly of the young gardener: "Kirill is a true expert. In just a few months, he completely revitalized my garden, restoring it to its former splendor."

Victoria considered it. The estate had been hers for three years, ever since she decided to start from scratch. However, the garden remained a project she kept putting off.

Her thoughts turned to an old photo frame still resting on the shelf. The image showed her and Alexey: young, joyful, fresh from their honeymoon. She hesitated for a moment, then turned the frame over. "No more dwelling on the past," she told herself firmly.

Fifteen years had passed since Alexey disappeared, without explanation, without a trace. Victoria still remembered every detail of that morning. He had gotten up early, as always, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "I'll be late tonight. Don't wait for dinner."

Those were the last words he spoke to her. He never returned. At first, she was desperate, frantically calling friends and acquaintances, but no one had any answers. It was as if Alexey had vanished into thin air: no leads, no trace of where he'd gone. Sometimes, it seemed as if he had never really existed.

Later, a lawyer delivered the divorce papers. Alexey hadn't even met her in person. It took Victoria years to realize how little she knew about him. He had entered her life suddenly, won her over with his charm, and showered her with affection. But every time the conversation turned to his past, he skillfully evaded the subject with lighthearted jokes. Blinded by love, she had overlooked all the warning signs.

A phone call interrupted her thoughts. It was Elena Sergeyevna, asking for the gardener. "Yes, let him come tomorrow at ten," Victoria replied after a brief pause.

The next morning, she was waiting in her home office. At ten o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang.

A young man stood in the entrance: tall, powerfully built, with a confident demeanor and an observant gaze.

"Hello, I'm Kirill. Did Elena Sergeyevna tell you she was looking for a gardener?" he said with a polite gesture.

Victoria guided him through the garden, detailing the work that needed to be done. Kirill moved with deliberate precision, carefully inspecting every corner, taking notes in a small notebook, and asking thoughtful, technical questions.

"There's a lot to tackle, but nothing too difficult. In two or three months, we can leave everything spotless," he concluded after the walk.

His confidence was reassuring, and Victoria felt confident in her decision. They agreed on the arrangements, and Kirill began work the next morning.

From her office window, she often found herself watching him. There was something captivating about the way he worked: every movement deliberate, without waste or urgency. It was as if he had an innate connection with nature, knowing exactly how to care for it.

Little by little, the garden began to regain its former charm. The tangled weeds disappeared, the paths took shape, and the unruly hedges gave way to manicured flowerbeds. Kirill worked tirelessly from dawn to dusk, stopping only briefly for lunch. Over time, Victoria grew accustomed to his constant presence. They chatted occasionally: about plants, the weather, literature. Kirill wasn't just skilled; he had a natural gift for conversation.

Still, something about him stirred a quiet unease in Victoria

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The new maid wanted to find out why the owner's daughter was crying in her room at night. But when she entered the teena...
07/16/2025

The new maid wanted to find out why the owner's daughter was crying in her room at night. But when she entered the teenager's room...

Trying not to make a sound, 27-year-old Elizaveta Andreyevna Malinkina carefully walked down the hallway toward the room of Alice, the owner's 14-year-old daughter. She needed to check if the girl was asleep so she could finally rest herself.

Liza had been working at billionaire Voropaev's house for two weeks, taking the place of her older sister Antonina, who had suddenly fallen ill during their vacation. She had to take over her duties. This job was very important to the family, as the salary here was much higher than anywhere else in their neighborhood. Antonina had two children: Marina, 14, and Vanechka, six.

The job was simple: keep the house in order and, if possible, avoid being noticed by the owners. But there was a "but": on days when Alexey Voropaev and his fiancée Anzhelika were away, Elizaveta had to spend the night at the mansion.

Alexey Anatolyevich had a daughter, Alice, and on those nights, she was left alone in the enormous house. The servants' quarters were at the other end of the property.

Already on the stairs, Liza heard crying. She looked at the clock: it was three in the morning.

"What's this strange thing? Crying again... this isn't usual anymore?" she muttered to herself.

The woman gathered her courage and knocked on the door. She wanted to know what was going on. She was sure something serious had happened. If the girl had such a privileged life, why would she be crying?

Although her sister had strictly warned her: "Don't show yourself in front of the owners," Malinkina decided to enter. Instead of just listening behind the door, she flung it open and entered the room.

"What are you doing here? Who let you in?! Get out right now! I'll call security!" Alice yelled and threw a pillow at the maid.

Liza deftly caught it and threw it back at once. The pillow hit the landlady's daughter directly on the head.

"How dare you?! I'll tell Dad and you'll be fired!" the girl exclaimed indignantly.

"Fire me, I don't care," the woman replied sarcastically. "It's unbearable to live in your house. It's never peaceful, even at night. Someone is constantly crying. Don't you know who it is?" She smiled. "Oh, that's right, it's you. Maybe Dad didn't give you the right star from the sky, or you broke a fake nail."

Alice burst into tears:

"You don't understand anything! If you only knew how much I suffer!"

"I understand, it's hell," Liza nodded. "If I were driven to school in a luxury car at 14, I'd cry too."

"Why?" the girl asked, surprised.

"We used to go swimming after school, pick mushrooms in the fall, sometimes go to a cafe for ice cream. And you? No one visits you, you have no one to talk to."

Malinkina headed for the door, but Alice stopped her:

"How do you make friends? I don't have any."

"None?" the woman was surprised.

"None. I used to have a mother, then my parents divorced. They sent me to study abroad, I got sick there, and my father brought me back."

"Why do you live with your father and not your mother?" Liza asked, sensing a familiar ache.

"Mom doesn't want to see me. She has a new family: a husband and small children."

"Did she tell you that herself?"

"No. I haven't seen her in a long time. My dad tells me that," Alice sighed.

"What an idiot your dad is!" Elizaveta couldn't help herself. "Only a completely selfish person would say that to their child."

"Are you talking about me?" a voice came from the doorway.

They both froze. A man in his thirties entered the room.

"Oh, Dad, are you back yet?" the girl stammered, hiding under the covers.

"Stop calling Anzhelika a bitch," Voropaev said sternly and turned to Liza: "Who are you and what are you doing in my daughter's room?"

"I'm the housekeeper. I just wanted to check if she was asleep," Liza replied embarrassed.

"We warned you: don't go in, just listen behind the door. If necessary, call Tamara Petrovna, don't come in here."

"Yes, I was warned," the woman lowered her gaze, not wanting to betray Alice.

"You're fired," Alexey said coldly and approached his daughter's bed.

Liza stood there, not knowing where to go. She felt...
READ MORE: https://updateweb24h.com/hienthucbtv/the-new-maid-wanted-to-find-out-why-the-owners-daughter-was-crying-in-her-room-at-night-but-when-she-entered-the-teenagers-room/

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