My Husband r***d Her? He Died Years Ago!

The day I returned from my trip, I came across a plea for help in a neighborhood f*******: group. My employer assaulted me, and I'm still expected to serve his wife. What should I do? My employer went abroad and left me behind to look after the house. The night she left, her husband came home. I looked up. My housekeeper, Emily, was crouched in front of the fireplace, cleaning. Her long hair hid half her face. There were two more lines in the post. Original Poster: [He said his wife knew everything.] Original Poster: [Now I'm pregnant. My employer is back, and I don't know who else to turn to.] The comments were already overflowing with outrage. Some urged her to call the police. Some left numbers for support services. Others said rich people would pay anything to avoid a scandal, so she should demand compensation first. The original poster replied only to the last comment. Original Poster: [Thank you. I'll talk to her tonight.] "Mrs. Cole." I hadn't noticed Emily get to her feet. She clutched a cleaning rag in one hand, her eyes glistening. "There's something I have to tell you." I turned my phone facedown on my knee. "Go ahead." She touched her lower abdomen, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm pregnant. Thirteen weeks. The baby is Mr. Cole's." I stared at her in silence for several seconds. She wiped away a tear and stepped closer. "I never wanted to destroy your marriage. That night, he forced himself on me." Slowly, I sat up straighter. "You're certain you mean my husband?" "Nathan Cole." She lifted her head and enunciated every syllable. "Your husband." It was absurd. Yet she had the nerve to stand in my home and accuse Nathan of something so vile. "I don't want to make a scene either," she said softly. "Give me $500,000 to raise the baby, plus $200,000 in damages. As soon as the money arrives, I'll move out, sign an NDA, and never bother you again." $700,000. I turned my phone around and pushed the post toward her. "Did someone even coach you on how to make your demand?" She glanced at the screen. Her grip tightened around the rag. "I was only looking for help." "Then you came to the wrong person. I'm not giving you a cent." The tears on her face had yet to dry, but her tone changed at once. "How can you be so heartless to another woman? What does that amount of money even mean to someone like you?" Her eyes fell on the watch around my wrist, then shifted to the shopping bags in the entryway. "Skip a few shopping trips and you'd have the money. But me? My entire life is ruined!" "You know perfectly well who the father is." I stood. "Don't you dare pin this on my husband." Emily threw the rag onto the table. "Are you sure about that? I can contact reporters, the neighborhood group, and the foundation you fund. Everyone can see what the respectable Mrs. Cole from all those charity galas is really like behind closed doors." "Be my guest." She stared at me for several seconds before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. Just before leaving, she looked back. "I hope you're still this tough when we get to court." The door slammed behind her. I called my attorney, Daniel, and told him everything from the beginning. He knew what had happened to Nathan. After hearing me out, he asked only one question. "Has she produced any evidence?" "No. She demanded $700,000 to buy her silence." I opened the desk drawer and took out Nathan's death certificate. "We need to set the record straight. Nathan isn't here to defend himself. I won't let her say these things about him." "I'll issue a statement. Preserve all the security footage from the house—the front entrance and living room. Send me your travel itinerary and the records of every payment you made to your staff as well." That night, I sat in the study organizing every recording and bill I could find until the early hours of the morning. After sending the last email, I realized I hadn't touched the coffee beside me. The next day, Emily released an edited recording. The only parts left were me saying, "I'm not giving you a cent," followed by her tearfully asking how I could be so heartless. Daniel immediately released a statement and supporting documents confirming that Nathan had died three years earlier. A few people deleted their shares. Emily, however, took a screenshot of the statement and added it to her own post. Emily: [When she hired me, she told me herself that her husband spent most of the year abroad. Now that something has happened, she waves a piece of paper around and claims he's been dead all along?] Ruth replied beneath it. Ruth: [Show us the original if you have the guts! Just because we can't afford expensive lawyers doesn't mean we're idiots!] My name, address, and photographs continued to spread online. Some commenters said everyone should wait for verification. Others threw garbage at my gate and spray-painted MONSTER across my garage door. I turned the security footage over to the police, while Daniel submitted the original certificate for verification. The foundation called as well and advised me not to attend its fundraising gala for the time being. The moment the call ended, a message from Emily arrived. Emily: There's still time to change your mind. I didn't reply. She sent me an audio clip. Emily: You say it wasn't him. Do you think anyone will believe you? Emily: Tomorrow, you won't be the only person who hears this recording. I pressed play. First came Emily's tearful cry. "Mrs. Cole! Please help me!" Then a man laughed. "You're actually asking Claire for help? Why do you think she went abroad?"