A billionaire fired 37 nannies in just two weeks, until a housekeeper did what no one else could for his six daughters

It wasn’t the normal noise of a disorganized house.

It was drier. More violet. As if a chair had been thrown or a door stamped against the wall. Natalia looked up reflexively. Javier didn’t react immediately, but the slight closing of his jaw betrayed him.

“The kitchen is at the back,” he said, as if he were talking. “There are cleaning products in the utility room.”

Another blow.

Then a childish cry. Not of pain. Of war.

Natalia took a deep breath, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and left the office without saying a word. As soon as she crossed the main corridor, she realized why she had been there thirty-seven times in fourteen days.

The mansion was dirty in the common sense of the word. It was wounded.

The walls were stained with feathers, the curtains were cut into strips at a corner, there was crushed cereal on the Persian carpet and a lamp lay broken near the stairs.

Each object seemed to have been attacked with precise care, either by negligence, or out of rage.

And then he saw them.

First appeared a girl of about eight years old, thin, with black hair half-tied up and a cold expression that made her seem like an adult mistress. She carried a pot of green paint in one hand and a brush in the other.

Behind her I saw two smaller twins with school scissors, another with a decapitated doll and a teenager, the older one, sitting at the top of the stairs like a queen in rue, observing everything with silent contempt.

It was six.

Six pairs of eyes sizing Natalia up as if they had already decided how long it would take her to run away.

The one who was eleven years old was the first to speak.

—Are you number thirty-eight?

Natalia put her backpack on the ground and looked around calmly.

—It depends. Thirty-eight of what?

One of the twins let out a giggle.

—Of those who say they are afraid… and then cry.

The teenager on the stairs didn’t smile. She just crossed one leg over the other and said:

—You won’t last until lunchtime.

Natalia observed them one by one. Not with challenge. Not with pity. With attention.

She recognized something she had studied, but which in books always seemed more orderly than in real life: grief disguised as sabotage. Fear disguised as cruelty. Little girls trying to prove, over and over again, that everyone else would leave them too.

—I’m not a pineapple farmer —she finally said—. I came to clean.

The youngest frowned.

—That’s what the last one said.

—So he lied—Natalia replied. —I did go to clean. It’s just that I still haven’t decided if I should start with the kitchen… or with this ambush.

The eleven-year-old raised the paintbrush, threatened.

—You’re not going to get mad.

—No. But I’m not going to play either.

That seemed to disconcert them for a second. They were used to two responses: desperate authority or useless sweetness. Natalia didn’t give them any trouble.

He bent down, opened his backpack and took out something unexpected: a large bag of industrial garbage, yellow gloves and a cheap spiral notebook.

—I’m going to do three things —he said—.

One: pick up broken glass because I don’t want anyone to get cut. Two: throw away the food that already smells bad. Three: make a list of what’s broken. If you want to keep destroying the house, go ahead. But at least I’ll know where to start.

The teenager went down two steps.

—What if we throw paint on you?

Natalia looked at the green paintbrush.

—Well, I’ll take a bath and continue.

The twins looked at each other.

The pineapple of the decapitated doll gave way to the front.

—What if we hide things from you?

—Then I’ll have to look for them.

—What if we scream?

—You already shouted other things that you did. The house is still here.

There was no irony in her voice. That was what began to break the dynamic.

The major lowered the guard a little more, although she tried to disguise it as annoyance.

—You’re weird.

—Yes. And I have expired my college degree, so I’m not easily scared.

That sparked the first reaction: a short giggle from the twins. The teenager glared at her, but the moment had already passed.

Natalia put on her gloves.

—Well. If you’re going to declare war on me, at least tell me your names. I don’t like cleaning among strangers.

It’s a shame.

Then the eight-year-old pineapple spoke, with much conviction.

—Repeat.

—Ariada—said the teenager.

Then the other names fell: Elisa, Emilia, Julieta and the youngest, Sofi, who was still hugging the wrist broken by the waist as if she could still save it.

Natalia repeated the six names slowly, memorizing them.

—Good. That’s it. Now I’m so “the millionaire’s daughters”. I’m six people who made an impressive disaster.

Reпata dio υп paso brυsco.

—We didn’t ask you to come.

Natalia agreed.

—I didn’t ask to come either. But here we are.

Javier appeared at the end of the hallway and that day, probably hoping to find the new worker either fleeing or subdued.

Instead, he saw her on her knees, gathering pieces of pottery with a dustpan while her daughters followed around, tense, yes, but quiet. Too quiet for the usual.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

Repata turned towards him with a hard look.

—Stay out of it.

Javier froze. Natalia didn’t look up.

“Mr. Hernández,” he said, “I need a box for glass and another for hazardous materials. Someone also has to check the cleaning products; it’s within the reach of the girls.”

He blinked.

—I… yes. Of course.

—And one more thing.

Now he looked at him.

—If you want me here, don’t lie to me again. This isn’t “just cleaning.”

Javier swallowed hard.

The girls were also looking at him. All of them. As if waiting to see if finally an adult was going to tell the truth in that house.

He looked down for a few seconds.

“Your mother died sixteen days ago,” she said, her voice breaking for the first time. “Since then… I don’t know how to reach them.”

The youngest, Sofi, let go of the doll.

The silence changed shape.

Adolescence was the first time to harden again.

—You didn’t reach us either.

Javier received the blow without defending himself.

That surprised Natalia.

Many men with money would have responded with authority, anger, or excuses. He just stood there, looking at his daughters as if he had just heard a righteous commandment.

Repata squeezed the green brush with such force that his fingers trembled.

—Mom did know when it was scary to sleep.

One of the twins started crying without noise.

Juliet sat down on the lowest step and hid her face between her knees.

Ñ ​​Natalia le qυedó claro eпtoпces qυe la guerra пo era coпtra las пiñeras.

Era coпtra el abпdoпo.

Coпtra la mυ3rte.

Against a father I loved, yes, but he always arrived late and with gifts instead of presence.

He took off his gloves.

“I need you to listen to all of me,” she said.

Niпgυпa responded, but neither did she leave.

“I didn’t come to replace your mother. Nobody can. Nor did I come to send you around like you’re toy soldiers. But this house can’t keep exploding every day. So we’re going to do something different.”

He approached the dining room, tore a sheet of paper from the notebook and stuck it on the wall.

E wrote:

THINGS WE MISS ABOUT MOM

The pineapples looked at her suspiciously.

“It’s ridiculous,” said Ariadna, the eldest.

“Yes,” Natalia replied. “Probably. But breaking lamps isn’t going to bring her back either.”

That hit hard.

Javier closed his eyes for a second.

Sofi was the first to move. She approached the sheet, took the pen and wrote in trembling handwriting:

when he combed my hair slowly

Then Repata, as if she were embarrassed to be second, wrote:

I knew when we pretended to be okay

Jυlieta pυso:

caпtaba horrible

One of the twins wrote:

It smelled like vanilla cream

The other one:

He let you sleep in his bed when it rained

And finally, Ariadna, who seemed most made of stone, remained for a long time in front of the sheet before writing:

made it so that Dad was here

Nobody spoke after that.

Not even the pineapples.

Ni Javier.

It’s Natalie.

Because there was nothing left to hide. The real monster of the mansion was not six wild daughters but a domestic curse. It was enormous pain, if name enough, bounced between marble, money, and asepsis.

Javier leaned against the door frame and seemed to age ten years in a minute.

“I didn’t know,” he murmured.

Ariadÿa looked at him with a hard, shriveled expression.

—That’s exactly the problem.

Natalia picked up the feather.

—Okay. So today we’re not going to clean the whole house. Today we’re only going to do two things. Throw away anything that could hurt someone… and stop acting like nobody here is broken.

Regata frowned.

—And how is that done?

Natalia sighed.

—I don’t know. But we can start by attacking each other every time someone enters through the door.

The pineapples didn’t say yes. But they didn’t say no either.

That, a house like that, was already a small miracle.

Javier took a step towards them.

-Girls…

Six eyes fixed on him. Not with love. Not yet. With longing. With examination.

For the first time in a long time, he understood that he couldn’t solve that with money, with new people, with a bigger house. He had to stay. To endure the chaos. To listen to what hurt. To get his hands dirty.

—I’m going to cancel my meetings this week—he said. All of them.

Ariadpa crossed her arms.

—And then the other one?

He swallowed.

—And the other one too.

That certainly moved them.

Natalia immediately noticed. There was something else there. Some woman, some clumsy impetus still breathing after death, something the girls saw as betrayal. It wasn’t the moment to open that door. But it was there.

Javier continued, this time looking at them all.

“I don’t know how to do it right.” “I know. But I’m going to stay here. And if she hates me, she’ll tell me. If she misses me, she’ll tell me too. If she wants to scream, we’ll scream. But I’m not going to keep hiding in the office while you search the house to see if I turn up.”

Reпata lowered her gaze.

Sofi was the only one who took a step towards him.

He didn’t hug him.

He only grabbed two of her fingers.

And Javier almost broke down right there.

Natalia looked at the scene and wondered why no one had managed to stay. The girls were coming to control the chaos. She, however, had done something else: she had named it.

At midday, the mansion was still a mess. There were bags of trash, stains to clean, broken glass to pick up, and a pile of clothes in the hallway. But for the first time in two weeks, it didn’t look like a haunted house.

It looked like a mourning home.

And that was infinitely more human.

When Santiago called to ask if the new worker had also fled, Javier looked at Natalia, who was sitting on the dining room floor receiving instructions from Sofi on how to repair the broken doll.

—No—he replied, his voice strangely calm—. I think someone finally came who saw to tame my daughters.

Santiago kept silent.

—So… he stays?

Javier watched Natalia. She looked up at that moment.

There were no promises in his face. No fear. No servility.

Only a married woman, intelligent and firm, making space where others had wanted to impose order.

—If you want —Javier said.

Natalia looked at the doll again.

—I’ll stay today —he replied—. We’ll see you tomorrow.

And, for the first time in a long time, in the mansion Herpedez that answer was enough.