The CEO's Daughter's Nanny - Where is my Child?

Viviane Bernardi Müller was a teacher who loved her job. Despite spending her days surrounded by children, she always put off having her own. Her husband insisted that they needed financial stability first.

By the time she was 27, they had bought a house and finally furnished its spacious rooms.

Her husband, Pietro, was a renowned lawyer. He rarely arrived home in time for dinner. Most nights, Viviane ate alone and went straight to bed.

On the rare nights when he arrived home early, however, she was always delighted to serve him. She was just happy to have him home. However, those nights almost always ended in arguments.

"Why can't we have children, Pietro?" she asked.

He frowned and replied rudely, "We're not ready to have children yet."

'We have savings, and we both work,' Viviane replied persistently.

"You know I want to change my car," he snapped, letting his silverware clatter against the plate. "Besides, I dipped into our savings for new suits. My boss can't stand it when his employees look shabby."

"You touched our money without asking me?"

"It's my money!" His fist slammed against the table. "I'm done. This food is disgusting!" Pietro hurled the plate to the floor.

Resigned, Viviane reached for the dustpan and broom, sweeping the mess from the kitchen tiles. She gripped the white island counter as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

The self-centered man she had married never cared to ask about her day, never gave her gifts, and never took her out to dinner.

He hadn't always been this way. In their early years, Pietro had done everything he could to please her. Sitting alone at the table, she realized she had been happier back when they lived in a small apartment, with nothing more than a fridge, a bed, and a stove.

The warmth of their relationship had cooled as Pietro climbed the corporate ladder. From a mere intern, he had risen to take part in board meetings with one of the most powerful hotel CEOs. Pietro loved to boast, always telling everyone he was the right hand of the Welsch Corporation's chief executive.

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Just before reaching the bedroom, Vivian climbed the stairs slowly, afraid another dizzy spell might send her tumbling down. She thought that sharing her news would make her husband happy, but her excitement crumbled as she peeked through the half-open door.

"Of course I will, sweetheart," he said into the phone. "I bought that piece of jewelry you wanted."

He paused, sitting on the bed, unaware his wife was listening just outside.

"Have you packed your bags yet?" His voice dropped to a murmur. "We'll spend a week in Los Angeles," he said, a spark of excitement in his tone. "Now send me those pictures of your breasts. I want you so much!"

Pain filled Vivian's emerald eyes. That was the real reason her marriage had grown so cold. She placed a hand over her belly, and just then the door swung open.

"What are you doing here?" He shouted.

"N-nothing," she stammered, struggling to steady her trembling legs. "Who were you talking to on the phone?"

"My boss," he said with a sidelong glance. "I'll be in the States next Monday. Business meeting."

"I thought you were talking to a woman."

He rose from the bed, towering over her, blocking her way. Gathering her courage, she asked,

"Was it your lover?"

"Don't change the subject! Were you eavesdropping at the door?"

Slap! His palm struck across her face. Pietro had lost control twice before but had sworn it would never happen again.

"You broke your promise!"

"You filthy whore," he snarled, yanking her by the hair.

He shoved her onto the bed, pulled the belt from his waist, and folded the leather in half.

"Please, don't!" She lifted her hands in defense. "I'm pregnant!"

"What?" The belt slipped from his grasp.

Vivian searched his impassive face, hoping for some trace of change at her revelation.

"Get rid of it!" He pointed to her belly.

"You can't do this to me. I'm carrying your child..."

"I told you a thousand times. I don't want it!"

Pietro grabbed a black blazer from the wardrobe, pulled it on, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Vivian clutched the pillow as tightly as she could and let her tears soak the flowered pillowcase.

_______________________________

In the middle of the night, she felt the mattress dip. He reeked faintly of liquor. Pietro's straight black hair, falling across his forehead, was damp.

He crushed his mouth against hers, biting and sucking at her lips. Staring up at the ceiling, Viviane barely had the strength to resist the muscular man pressing her down into the bed. She kicked and pushed against his back, but her head spun when Pietro struck her jaw. Her vision blurred until all she could register was the weight of him moving roughly over her, thrusting without even undressing. His hips drove harder, deeper.

"Please, stop!" Vivian's frail voice broke. "You're hurting me!" She gripped his arms.

"Shut up, you frigid bitch!"

He clamped his palm over her mouth, stifling her sobs. Planting his feet against the mattress, he forced his hips faster, harder.

She thrashed beneath him, gasping for air as his hands closed around her throat. Vivian clawed at his arms; he only grunted, driving deeper before pulling back. Tears streamed down her temples. She was in pain when he finally groaned and let go of her neck.

Viviane coughed, too weak to move.

"Did you like that, baby?" Pietro panted, still hovering over her.

"Get off me," she whispered, struggling for breath.

"One of these days, I'll snap that little neck of yours." He rolled to her side with a huff. "You'd better get rid of that baby." Turning his back, he pulled the sheet over himself.

Viviane pressed her hand against her belly. She waited until Pietro's breathing grew heavy before deciding to escape. She was fifteen weeks pregnant the night her husband raped her.

In the bathroom, she saw the faintest trace of blood. She didn't think twice. She packed a bag, called a taxi, and went straight to the hospital where she had her prenatal care.

By some luck, she made it in time. After being treated, she lay stretched out on the hospital bed, stroking her stomach. She watched the IV drip, drop by drop, sliding through the tube into her vein, until her eyelids grew heavy.

"Daughter," a gentle voice whispered. "Wake up."

"What are you doing here, Mom?" she asked sleepily.

"Your husband's away on business. He asked me to look after you."

Relieved, Vivian opened her eyes, blinking against the halogen light. Without Pietro around, she could finally breathe.

A few days later, discharged from the hospital, she returned to the house in Alphaville. As she stepped out of the car, her mother's voice followed her, calm but insistent, urging her to wait until Pietro came back before making any rash decisions.

"I can't, Mom!"

She climbed the stairs and went straight to the bedroom upstairs. "He has a mistress."

"Oh, darling, that's not the end of the world," her mother said gently.

The older woman, with gray streaks in her hair and lines etched deep into her face, followed her daughter, trying to soothe her.

"Your father had mistresses too. It didn't destroy our marriage."

"I can't live with that!"

Resolute, Vivian opened the black suitcase already waiting on the bed. She was determined to start over. Life would be easier if Pietro didn't know where to find her.

Otávia insisted she was making a terrible mistake. Vivian promised that once she was settled, she would let her mother know. With a knot in her throat, she left behind everything she had built over the last few years.

After nearly six hours of driving, she checked into a hotel and ordered dinner at the restaurant downstairs. On the road, she had already tossed her old phone and bought a new one.

Viviane stared down at her plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables, her hand resting protectively over her belly. She scanned the restaurant, quietly observing.

Her gaze stopped on a well-dressed man arguing with the waiter. His accent was heavy, his voice sharp.

"Why are you staring at me?" His hard eyes pinned her, startling her. "Why are you looking at me?" he repeated in Portuguese, harsher still.

Vivian shook her head quickly and lowered her eyes back to her plate. She had enough trouble and wasn't about to invite more.

"My apologies for the mistake, Mr. Welsch," the manager said softly. "The waiter is new and mixed up the orders."

"Then you should hire competent staff."

"Yes, sir."

Half an hour later, as she finished her dessert, the waiter cleared his throat and set a single red flower on the table, along with a card that read, 'Forgive me!' On the back was a phone number and the name, Gabe.

She knew the type all too well. Pietro always did the same after treating her badly. Her heart had no room left for rough men who didn't know how to love.

Viviane paid with her credit card, then tossed the flower and the stranger's card into the trash before leaving the restaurant.

The heat in that city was suffocating. The air conditioner in the room only blew warm air. That day, according to the receptionist, there were no other rooms available.

After days of searching, she finally found a house to rent in Rio de Janeiro's West Zone. The rent was much cheaper than in the South Zone.

The house wasn't very big, but it seemed comfortable enough. It had only one bedroom, an open-plan kitchen, and a bathroom. Outside, there was a small porch with brown resin tiles and a narrow pebble path leading to the little wooden gate in the middle of the low wall.

That same week, Vivian received the furniture she had bought online. Nothing fancy, but enough to start rebuilding her life.

Over the months, Viviane took morning walks and sometimes went out to socialize with the neighbors. Soon, everyone knew her as the teacher from São Paulo. That helped her find some work as a private tutor.

To explain her pregnancy without a father in the picture, she told everyone her husband had died in an accident and that she had moved to Rio de Janeiro in the hope of starting over.

Everything was going as expected. During one appointment, Viviane got the news she was expecting a girl. The doctor told her that in three weeks, her daughter would be born.

That afternoon, she sat in her rocking chair reading a novel. The breeze cooled her skin. She smiled as she finished another chapter and went inside to answer the phone. It was the third time that strange number had called.

"Hello?"

"Where are you, sweetheart?"

Vivian dropped the phone as soon as she recognized the voice. She had no idea how Pietro had gotten her number. With effort, she bent down to pick up the cracked phone.

"What do you want?" she tried to sound firm.

"I just want to talk..."

"Your mistress isn't giving you enough attention?" Her voice dripped with irony.

"Don't be stupid!" he shouted.

"I want a divorce!"

"I'll find you, sweetheart."

She hung up and tried to steady her breathing. Cold sweat broke across her skin, her heart racing. She still had nightmares about the night Pietro had raped her.

"The monster won't find us," she whispered, looking at her belly. "Tomorrow, Mommy's going to the police station, and everything will be fine." She stroked her round stomach.

________________________________

Even after filing a police report, she still didn't feel safe. Pietro was a clever lawyer and would know how to slip away from any situation.

Convincing herself that he would never find out where she was, Viviane kept to her routine. She walked in the mornings and gave lessons in the afternoons.

That weekend, she decided to go shopping. Viviane wanted the fridge stocked before the first weeks of postpartum recovery.

On the way, she caught sight of a black car in her rearview mirror.

Shaking her head, she brushed off those dark thoughts and parked in the supermarket lot.

Inside, she shopped peacefully. She grabbed more diapers, wipes, alcohol, and cotton. Soon she'd have her baby in her arms, ready to enjoy the gift of motherhood.

With the bagger's help, Vivian returned to her car. She disarmed the alarm and opened the trunk to organize the groceries.

"I think I forgot my phone at the checkout."

"I'll get it for you, ma'am!"

The boy ran through the automatic doors. Distracted, Viviane didn't see the hooded figure reaching out.

"Don't try anything stupid." He slapped her ear, leaving her dizzy. "Hand over the car keys, bitch!"

The keys and wallet slipped from her hand.

"Please, calm down," she begged, exasperated.

"Give me the damn stuff!" the thief demanded.

Vivian bent down to grab her belongings when she heard the beggar's desperate scream. She tried to run, but the gunshot was the last thing she heard before plunging into darkness, her belly hitting the hard pavement of the parking lot.

Through thick clouds, she tried to reach her daughter's crib. No matter how fast she ran, she couldn't get there.

In the distance, she saw her mother cradling the baby and smiling as she wrapped her in her arms. Then, at some point, Otávia handed the infant to a tall man with a shadowed face.

"Don't give her to Pietro, Mom!" She shouted, but no one could hear her.

Vivian struggled to stop her ex-husband from approaching their daughter. Suddenly, fog filled the long corridor, keeping her from moving forward.

"I told you I'd find you," Pietro's voice echoed. "Rest in peace, sweetheart." He smiled, looking at the woman frozen in place.

At the end of the tunnel, a bright light shone over the crib where the baby cried. Fighting against the paralyzing fear, Viviane finally found the strength to move. She ran desperately, only to reach an empty crib. Little Sofia was gone.

"No!" she screamed.

Her eyelids twitched, forcing themselves open. The sounds of medical equipment and doctors' voices flooded her ears.

"She's moving, Doctor!" a woman's voice said. "Look!"

"Call her mother," answered a man's deeper voice.

Vivian's temple throbbed. With half-closed eyes, she saw blurred silhouettes around her bed.

"I want to see my daughter," she said slowly, trying to sit up. "I need to take care of my baby."

It was as if she were speaking to ghosts-no one answered. At some point, calm forced itself over her body after the prick of a needle. Vivian drifted back into sleep as the doctors examined her.

The next morning, a nurse helped Viviane out of bed and wheeled her to the bathroom. After washing up, she tried to stand, but her legs struggled to hold her. She kept asking for her daughter, but the nurse only told her to wait.

After breakfast, she turned to the news, which showed footage of Carnival in 2022 and reports about the pandemic that had swept the world.

Her trembling hands rose to her lips. She couldn't believe she had slept for more than two years away from her child.

"I'm so happy," Otávia said as she walked in.

"Is this real, Mom?" Vivian pointed to the TV on the wall.

"Sadly, that disease took millions of lives." Otávia sat in the leather chair beside the bed. "Your father died during the first wave. It was so hard to go through it all alone."

Holding back tears, Vivian stared at the images of people celebrating Carnival as if nothing had happened. Though she hadn't been close to her father, she still felt the pain of loss.

"We're in 2022?" she asked Otávia.

"Yes, darling. You were in a coma for two years. The neurologist said you're a miracle of science. Dr. Javier told me, "If you follow treatment and continue physical therapy, you'll be walking again soon."

"Where is my daughter?"

The elderly woman stroked her hand, hesitating.

"Where is Sofia, mom?" Viviane yelled.

"I don't know if that's her name," her voice trailed off in a whisper.

"Stop beating around the bush, Mom," Vivian's voice rose. "Where is my daughter?"

"Your ex-husband took her."

"No, no, no!"

Her arms flailed on the bed. Vivian ripped out the IV lines and tried to stand. With no strength to hold herself up, she collapsed onto the vinyl floor, sobbing in despair.

Nothing was as easy as Viviane had expected.

In the first few days, Viviane attended physical therapy and pushed herself to keep up with her daughter. As soon as she was discharged from the hospital, she returned to São Paulo and waited a week before insisting that her mother take her to her old house.

"Pietro doesn't live here!" Otávia revealed. "Your ex-husband sold the house and signed the divorce papers just before being transferred to the company headquarters in Los Angeles."

Things became even more complicated. Viviane was still frail and much thinner. She was a skinny woman who hardly looked like the healthy one she had been.

Otavia whispered, "He remarried!"

"Please, don't say another word." Vivian said softly.

"You are to blame!" Otávia got into a fight. "You abandoned Pietro. You might have been alright, taking care of your family, if you had stayed and fought.

"What family?" That was the first time Vivian faced her mother. "On the last night I spent in that house, he assaulted me and raped me. I almost died because of my daughter! That's why I ran away from that bastard."

With her back still turned, Otavía covered her tearful eyes. She could not accept Viviane's words, and so she denied them.

"I am going to the bathroom!"

"Truth hurts, doesn't it, Mom?" Viviane said, raising her voice.

She glanced at her short and rather pathetic mother that had given up after losing her husband and still managed to take her granddaughter's side. Using her crutch to support her, Viviane, at the open window, with her back to the room and the cortile, looked at the stars.

Viviane kept observing the cars from the fourth floor of the building going uptown. The call of death was very strong inside her. But what if Sofia needed her? Pietro had refused the child from the very beginning, so why had he taken the girl? She shut her eyes and started to imagine ways to recover her lost daughter.

__________________________________________________

A year later, Viviane went to physical therapy and her neurology appointments without her mother.

One day, she took the chance to go to the Welsch Corporation building, but the receptionist denied her entry. She even tried to bypass the security guard but was stopped before reaching the administration floor.

Two years after waking from the coma, she had lost hope. She spent her days locked in her room, depressed. One day, she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. That same day, her daughter was turning four. Viviane wondered what Pietro would do for her daughter's birthday. Would he take her to Disney? Or throw a party with whipped cream cake and unicorn balloons?

Viviane covered her head and sighed. She was lying to herself. Pietro had always hated celebrating birthdays. He rarely celebrated holidays with her, let alone with an unwanted daughter.

"Get up, Viviane!" Otávia turned on the light. "Out of that bed, now!"

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Stop torturing yourself over this. You'll have other children soon."

Viviane lifted her head, shocked by the absurdity.

"Did you think that when my brother died?"

Otávia swallowed hard. That subject was still painful. Viviane's brother had overdosed at a party while celebrating his college entrance exam results.

"Sorry, Mom!"

Viviane got out of bed and tried to hug her, but Otávia stepped back.

"I've been very patient with you, but this has gone too far," Otávia complained. "Take a shower and find a job. You need to leave my house."

Viviane rubbed her face. She shouldn't have brought up that topic. Talking about her brother's death was like touching an unhealed wound.

_____________________________________________

Two weeks later, Viviane went to her old school and spoke with the principal, who was sympathetic but said there were no vacancies.

She spent the morning looking for a job and dropping off resumes at private schools in the city. Passing by the Welsch Corporation building, she parked and walked toward where her ex-husband worked.

She bumped into the same man she had seen at a restaurant more than four years ago. Despite his inscrutable expression, he was handsome. Viviane had a faint memory of the man with brown hair and a defined jawline.

"I'm sorry!" a hoarse voice said. "Excuse me," he added in Portuguese this time.

"Don't you watch where you're going?" she snapped. "Move out of my way; I'm in a hurry."

Executives paused to look at the woman, still walking with the help of a crutch. She limped across the white tiled floor to the reception.

"I want to speak to Mr. Welsh."

"Sorry, he only sees people by appointment."

"My ex-husband is on the board. Pietro Müller!"

"One moment!" The slender receptionist typed quickly, checked her computer screen, and then picked up the phone. "Good morning, is Mr. Müller available?" she asked, frowning. "Thank you, and sorry for the trouble." The woman in a black suit glanced at the anxious Viviane. "Dr. Müller has been transferred out of the country."

"Can I have his phone number?"

"Sorry, that's out of my authority," the receptionist said, turning to help someone else.

Not knowing what to do, Viviane rubbed her eyes. She heard the receptionist murmur something about sending nanny candidates to her office.

"Mr. Welsh wants me to find a nanny by the end of today."

"Hi!" Viviane insisted.

"I already told you, I can't help you," the receptionist replied.

"I'm one of the candidates for the nanny position..."

The HR manager looked at her with disdain.

"Follow me!"

On the administration floor, Viviane waited. Young, delicate-looking women arrived and sat next to her. There were four blondes and one brunette.

"She won't be hired!" one candidate whispered, raising her chin at Viviane's crutch. "A child runs a lot and makes trouble; you need to be healthy and strong."

Despite the negativity, the desperate mother refused to give up. She was determined to take this job to find her daughter.

"Viviane Bernardi," the manager called.

Leaving the crutch behind, she struggled toward the door under condemning stares.

"I couldn't find your resume," the woman on the other side of the desk said.

"My ex-husband recommended me for the position," Viviane lied boldly.

"Is that so?" She raised her thick eyebrows.

"Pietro Müller."

"Oh, yes!" The robust woman frowned and organized the papers on her desk. "Have you worked with children before?"

"I'm a teacher," Viviane smiled, recalling her work. "I love children. I taught for over ten years in a school."

"That's good!" the manager said, pleased. "Do you speak Portuguese?"

"Sim, eu falo!" she answered quickly.

"Great!" The manager returned the smile.

"Your resume is excellent, but how would you handle a child running around the park?"

Embarrassed, Viviane glanced at one of her legs and sighed. Her limitation could be an obstacle for the coveted CEO nanny position.

"I understand," she said, standing. "Thank you very much."

As she left the room, Viviane didn't even pick up her crutch. The next candidate was called while she waited for the elevator. She felt so discouraged that she stepped in and stopped beside the same man she had bumped into in the hotel lobby.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked her.

The door to the private elevator opened into a white room, adorned with paintings and mirrors that made the large office appear even more sophisticated.

Viviane's cheeks burned, and her skin flushed when she saw the man sitting behind the massive desk.

"I'm sorry!" she stammered, standing still, trying to recover from her embarrassment. "How do I get out of here?"

"With this!" Gabriel said, holding up an access card and tossing it onto the desk. "What are you doing in my company?"

"I came for a nanny interview, but..." she trailed off, unable to finish. She was unable to articulate anything after the uncomfortable situation.

Not only had she ended up in the owner's office, but she also felt ashamed of how she had treated Gabriel just moments before the interview.

"What's your name?" Gabriel's impassive expression scrutinized her as if analyzing every detail.

In a hushed voice, she replied, "Viviane Bernardi,sir."

Gabriel scribbled something on a piece of paper and gave her a piercing look. At that moment, Viviane realized her chance of finding her daughter was slipping away. So she asked, "Could you open it, please, Mr. Welsh?" She stepped aside as he exhaled heavily and went to the white door.

"Get the hell out of my office!" he ordered, gesturing toward the elevator.

Resigned, she limped into the metal box.

In the private elevator mirror, she noticed her wrinkled white blouse and unkempt hair. Her dull, frizzy strands were pulled into a messy bun. Not even her impressive resume could help her secure this position.