And something happened that Thiago hadn’t seen for weeks: Alice smiled.
Not an automatic gesture. A genuine smile, as if recognizing a light.
Thiago froze, confused, almost offended by the beauty of the moment. Why her? What was it about this young woman?
“I accept the job,” the girl said without taking her eyes off the baby. “When do I start?”
Thiago answered too quickly, as if he was afraid that he would regret it upon hearing his own voice:
-Tomorrow.
That night, Thiago didn’t sleep. The house was quiet, but his head was a whirlwind. It wasn’t exactly that he distrusted her the way he distrusted the world. It was… another feeling. As if the young woman were hiding something.
Or perhaps it was him, his own terror of putting his daughter in someone else’s hands again.
At three in the morning, he made a decision that made him feel both strong and miserable: he bought discreet security cameras. Six. Small, about the size of a coin. “For peace of mind,” he told himself. “To protect Alice.”
And, although he tried to convince his conscience, he knew it was also something else: it was his inability to trust.
The cameras arrived, and he installed them himself, like a clandestine ritual. One in a living room clock. Another in the kitchen fan. Another hidden in a decorative object. And one, the most important, inside the closet of Alice’s room.
He set everything up to record to the cloud, accessible from his cell phone. When he finished, he looked around the house and felt something dark: as if the mansion were looking back at him.
On Monday, Lívia arrived on time. Thiago was already in his office, but his mind wasn’t on the numbers.
He opened the app on his phone like someone reopening a wound. He watched her come in, put down her bag, tie back her hair, and begin cleaning efficiently. For a few minutes, Thiago felt guilty. “Maybe I’m overreacting,” he thought. “Maybe she’s a good person.”
Then Alice cried.
Livia dropped the cloth immediately and ran to the room. Thiago raised his voice, tense. The young woman picked up Alice with a care that wasn’t just professional; it was instinct. She checked the diaper, changed it with gentle movements. Everything was normal… until she did something no one else had ever done.
Instead of putting her back in the crib or the car seat, she carried the baby into the living room and spread out a colorful playmat that Thiago had bought but never used.
With almost sacred gentleness, she laid Alice face down on the mat. Thiago felt like his heart was going to burst. No one had ever recommended that position. What was she doing?
Livia lay down beside her, at eye level, and spoke to the baby as if she were a whole person, not a fragile object.
—Let’s play, princess. Look what I brought for you.
She placed a teddy bear a few inches in front of her. Alice looked at the toy, then at Livia.
“You can do it,” he whispered. “Try it for me.”
And Thiago saw the unthinkable: his daughter strained. She stretched out her little arms.
She didn’t reach the teddy bear on the first try, but Lívia wasn’t frustrated. She moved the toy a little closer, then further away again, guiding the effort like a game. It wasn’t just entertainment: it was exercise, training disguised as tenderness.
Then Lívia massaged Alice’s little legs with circular motions, gently bending her knees, singing an old song that Thiago didn’t recognize.
Alice smiled. She laughed. She laughed for real. That baby laugh, pure, luminous, that Thiago hadn’t heard since before the accident.
Thiago stared at the screen as if it were a stolen miracle.
Lívia used pot lids as mirrors and made funny faces.
Alice laughed so hard she could barely breathe, like a baby laughing and not knowing where to put all that joy. And then what happened made Thiago spill his coffee on his desk: Alice raised her arms to Lívia, wanting to be picked up.
She hadn’t done it since the accident. Before, it was an automatic gesture. Afterward, it was as if something inside her had shut down. But now, there, in that recording, her daughter was asking for a hug.
Livia lifted her up and held her close to her chest. Alice rested her head on her shoulder, closed her eyes, completely relaxed. Completely trusting.
Thiago turned off his phone with trembling hands, as if what he had just seen was too intimate. It was strange: he installed cameras to look for danger… and found love.
For three days, she watched the recordings obsessively. And each day her confusion grew. Lívia wasn’t just any employee. Her movements were too technical. The way she positioned Alice’s body, how she stimulated her reflexes, how she turned every game into therapy… everything spoke of expertise.
On Thursday night, Thiago couldn’t take it anymore.
He opened his laptop and typed in the full name that appeared on the documents: Lívia Martins Silva. What he found left him breathless: an old LinkedIn profile. Physiotherapy student at the Federal University of São Paulo. Senior year… three years ago.
She also found a mention in an academic group, an article on child rehabilitation she co-authored. And then nothing. The digital trail vanished as if her life had been erased from the internet.
Why was a nearly qualified physiotherapist working as a cleaner?
On Friday, Thiago returned early. He entered his house at three in the afternoon and found a scene that broke his heart: Lívia was sitting on the sofa with Alice asleep in her lap. The baby’s fingers were tangled in Lívia’s blouse, her head nestled on her shoulder as if that place were home.
Thiago stared, unsure whether to interrupt or cry. Lívia looked up, surprised.
—Mr. Thiago… I wasn’t expecting you so early.
He swallowed.
—We need to talk. And… call me Thiago.
Livia nodded, carefully settling Alice down so as not to wake her.
—Why didn’t you tell me you studied physiotherapy?
The color drained from Livia’s face. She looked at Alice, as if the baby could lend her courage.
—How… how did you know?
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