The plane crash had taken them both in one terrible moment. Since that day, Matthew became a different man. He stopped smiling. He spoke less. Sometimes he did not speak at all. People saw his wealth and called him lucky. But deep inside, he knew the truth. Money could not bring back the people he loved.
And so the mansion became quiet.
One by one, housemaids came to work there. And one by one, they left. Some could not handle his silence. Others were afraid of his sudden anger. The house felt too heavy for them. Only one maid stayed. Her name was Ada.
She was simple, calm, and hardworking. She did not complain. She did not ask questions. She just did her job and kept going. Not because it was easy, but because she had no choice. She had a daughter to take care of. Her name was Nancy.
Nancy was five years old, small, gentle, and full of quiet kindness. She did not talk too much, but her eyes were bright. Even when things were hard, she still found a way to smile.
One morning, Ada noticed something was wrong. Nancy was not herself. She touched her forehead. It was hot. Too hot. Nancy looked weak, her body heavy, her eyes half closed. Ada felt fear rise inside her chest. She did not have money for a proper hospital visit yet, and there was no one she could leave the child with.
Missing work was not an option. If she lost this job, everything would fall apart.
Ada sat still for a moment, thinking. Then she made a quiet decision.
“I’ll take you with me,” she said softly.
At the mansion, she found a small, quiet room. She laid Nancy down carefully, gave her medicine, and covered her with a light cloth.
“Rest, my baby,” she whispered. “I’m close.”
Then she went back to work, moving quickly, her mind never leaving her child.
The house remained silent until suddenly a loud crash broke through the stillness.
Ada froze.
Her heart started beating fast. That sound came from Matthew’s room. Something was wrong.
Ada ran. Her slippers barely made a sound as she rushed down the hallway. Her heart was pounding, and her mind was filled with fear. When she pushed open Matthew’s door, she stopped in shock.
He was on the floor.
One hand pressed against his chest. The other stretched weakly toward the table. His face looked drained, and his breathing was rough and broken.
It was clear.
He could not breathe.
“Sir,” Ada cried, rushing toward him.
But she did not know what to do first. Her hands shook as she looked around the room. Then she saw it.
The inhaler.
It was right there on the table. So close, yet out of reach.
She moved quickly to grab it, but a small hand got there first.
Ada turned.
Nancy.
The little girl stood there, weak but steady. She must have followed her mother even in her sick state.
“Nancy, no,” Ada began, but her voice faded.
Nancy had already picked up the inhaler
