I caught my son slipping his expensive dinner into our maid’s old bag. Furious, I demanded, “Why are you stealing from your own family?” He looked up with tears in his eyes and whispered, “Because she’s my real mom, and she only eats our leftovers.” My world spun as I looked at the hidden photo in her bag…

maternal instinct and a deep-seated suspicion of anyone on my payroll.

“Where is my brilliant nephew?” Vanessa trilled, shedding her designer trench coat.

“Backyard. Fort building,” I replied, massaging my temples.

Vanessa didn’t immediately go to him. Instead, her predatory gaze tracked Grace, who was quietly dusting the crown molding in the adjacent continue reading …