The billionaire came home without notice and was stunned to see the maid do this to his son!
The late autumn Delhi night, the cold wind from the Yamuna River blew in, the lights from Rajan’s luxurious villa cast a cold and distant look on the large yard. The shiny black sedan stopped in front of the gate. After nearly two months of working in Dubai, Rajan, the 36-year-old billionaire, whom businessmen often call “the all-powerful boss”, returned without notice.

He opened the car door and stepped out with a calm, cold demeanor like his own home. The villa was isolated in the suburbs of Delhi, high walls, iron gates, neatly trimmed neem trees, the space was so quiet that the sound of footsteps could be heard echoing on the marble floor. The lights in the yard were still on but the entire ground floor was dark. Rajan frowned; he was used to everything in the house operating according to his schedule, every light bulb, every door had to be in the right position. The unusual silence made him uncomfortable.

He dragged his suitcase up the steps and swiped the key card to unlock it. The large door opened slowly, a cool breeze rushing in. The villa, which was usually cleaned thoroughly every day, now had a faint smell of old dampness and a faint scent of jasmine tea, a smell he never liked. Rajan’s mind flashed with the image of Mrs. Lakshmi.

The loyal housekeeper had just resigned due to poor health. When they parted, she held his hand, her eyes sad as she said: “Rajan, there is something beautiful in this house that you have not seen yet.” At that time, he just nodded in agreement, thinking that she was speaking emotionally like many others. But tonight, those words suddenly echoed clearly in his mind.

He walked through the living room, everything was still neat and clean, except for the pendulum clock on the wall ticking softly. On the table, little Aarav’s glass of milk was still unfinished, he bent down to touch it, it was still warm. That meant someone had been here not long ago. Rajan tightened his grip on the suitcase, his eyes coldly glancing up the stairs.

He was about to go to his son’s room to see what was going on when he suddenly stopped because a yellow light was shining down from Aarav’s room from the upper floor. He walked slowly and carefully, each step echoing softly in the quiet house. A soft, faint singing voice rang out, vague and warm, a clear, gentle female voice but containing a bit of sadness. He stopped. For many years, this house had never had any singing voice other than the sound of teaching and working.

He walked faster, opened the door to his son’s room. The yellow light covered the scene, making him speechless for a few seconds. Aarav was lying peacefully in the blanket, his face peaceful. Beside him, a young girl sat on a chair, her hair down, her hands gently caressing, her mouth softly singing a lullaby. Her face was gentle, her eyes gentle.

That image, though peaceful, made Rajan angry. He felt something was violated. He stepped forward, his voice as cold as steel echoed in the small room: “Who are you? Who gave you permission to touch my son?”

The girl was startled, her hands trembling, her voice stuttering: “Yes, I am a temporary maid. Mrs. Lakshmi asked me to look after the baby for a few days because she had to go back to her hometown urgently. Baby Aarav was afraid of sleeping alone, so I just lulled him to sleep.”

Rajan interrupted, his eyes cold: “Mrs. Lakshmi has no right to bring strangers in here without telling me. You pack up and leave the house now.”

The girl was stunned, her voice choked, but it was late at night. Baby Aarav softly called Ms. Han and fell asleep. She stood up, bent down to kiss the boy’s forehead, her voice trembling slightly: “Goodbye, son. Sleep well.”

She turned to Rajan, her eyes filled with tears, and said slowly: “I’m used to it. People like me, if not fired because they are poor, are also because they are not trustworthy.” Those words were like a cold knife piercing through the air. Rajan paused, still maintaining a firm expression, just silently watching her carry the small bag and walk out.

The sound of her footsteps gradually faded away on the stairs, mixed with the sound of the night wind passing through the door frame. He stood there watching the small figure disappear under the light, a moment of pain in his heart, not sure if it was guilt or anger for being touched on his pride. The sound of the main door closing, leaving a terrifying void.

He looked over at the bed, little Aarav curled up hugging the teddy bear, his lips moving in his dream. Rajan sighed softly, turned off the light, closed the door, but his footsteps stopped longer at the threshold than usual. In his head echoed the gentle singing voice from earlier, a strange feeling came over him, uncomfortable and lingering

Rajan used to think he had everything under control: work, money, people. But tonight, just a poor strange woman made him feel fragile. He told himself it was just a meaningless emotion, then took a deep breath, turned off the light, and left the room. Little Aarav turned over, tears rolling down his cheeks, whispering softly in his sleep: “Miss Han, don’t go.”

The next morning, sunlight shone into the room but the atmosphere was still heavy. Little Aarav sat quietly at the dining table, picked up a piece of egg and put it down without eating. Rajan just waved his hand, his voice low to let his son be. The boy suddenly asked: “Dad, did you dream about Mom yesterday? If Mom were still alive, she would probably tell Miss Han to stay, because she’s also poor.”

Those words were like a knife cutting into Rajan’s heart. He stood up, looked out at the garden where the frangipani tree was blooming white, and caught a glimpse of the woman’s shadow passing through the gate. He quickly opened the door and ran downstairs, but saw no one, only a few petals left on the steps. The feeling of unease rose again.

The technician checking the camera system reported that the second floor area had been cut off since last night, as if someone had intentionally pulled the wire. Rajan clenched his fists, his eyes sharp. But when he opened Aarav’s bed, he discovered a small notebook, Khoa and Han’s diary, with short, gentle lines, teaching the child to believe in good things. Each line was like a small needle stabbing into his heart.

For the first time in many years, he did not turn on the camera system, did not lock the door. He sat quietly by his son’s bed, listening to the sound of the wind in the garden, the image of Han hugging Aarav, her soft singing voice kept creeping into the place he had locked for a long time. He wondered: who was that girl really? And the good things that Mrs. Lakshmi had spoken of, were they appearing before his eyes?

A few weeks later, Rajan’s group established the Han Anh Hoa Nhan Ai Scholarship Fund, for poor, studious children and domestic workers in difficult circumstances. During the ceremony, Rajan saw Han among the children, her gentle smile, her hands stained with watercolors, her eyes as gentle as ever. Little Aarav ran up and shouted: “It’s Miss Han, Dad!”

Rajan smiled, placing a bouquet of white chrysanthemums in front of her. Without any words, their eyes were enough to say it all: the past was asleep, wounds could be healed when you open your heart.

Late in the afternoon, when everyone left, Han bowed to him and turned back to pack up. Rajan quietly left, leaving behind the gentle scent of flowers and the crisp laughter of children. Little Aarav hugged the bouquet of chrysanthemums, smiling brightly: “Dad, I will plant these flowers in the garden, so that every time I see them, I will remember Miss Han.” Rajan nodded, the sunset passed through the glass, shining a soft golden light on his face.

In his heart, the remorse had turned into gratitude. He understood that rich or poor did not determine character, only the human heart could truly distinguish right from wrong. That night, under the moonlight, father and son sat in the middle of a garden of blooming white chrysanthemums, a simple yet profound happiness.