The words echoed through the vast halls of the Whitmore mansion, leaving everyone motionless.

Edward Whitmore—a billionaire business magnate whom the media called “the man who never loses”—stood speechless. He had closed billions of dollars in deals and negotiated with world leaders, but nothing had prepared him for what his six-year-old daughter had just said.

Little Sophie, in her pale pink dress, clutched her teddy bear and pointed at someone unexpected: Anna, the cleaning lady.

Around her, a group of models—tall, stunning, draped in silk—exchanged awkward glances. Edward had gathered them for one reason only: to allow Sophie to choose the woman who could become her new mother.

His wife, Margaret, had died three years earlier, and he thought beauty and elegance would help his daughter forget her loss. But Sophie ignored the glamour and chose the woman who dusted the crystal chandeliers.

Anna placed a trembling hand on her chest.

—Me? Oh, my dear, I’m just…

“You’re good to me,” Sophie said in a soft but firm voice. “You tell me stories when Dad’s busy. I want you to be my mom.”

A murmur rippled through the room. The models shifted, whispering. Edward’s jaw tightened. For once, the man who controlled everything was speechless. Anna looked just as stunned: no calculation, no ulterior motive, just confusion.

By nightfall, the story had spread throughout the mansion. The guests left, humiliated, and Edward locked himself in his study, repeating his daughter’s voice over and over: “Dad, I choose her.”

This wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out. He wanted someone who could charm politicians, appear on magazine covers, and perfectly fit his public image, not the maid who polished the silverware.

But Sophie refused to change her mind.

The next morning, at breakfast, he crossed his arms and declared:
“If you don’t let her stay, I won’t speak to you again.”

Edward’s spoon clinked against the plate.

—Sophie…

“Mr. Whitmore,” Anna interjected gently, “please. She’s just a child…”

He interrupted her:
“You know nothing about my world. Nothing about what appearances mean.”

Anna lowered her gaze, but Sophie did not give in.

Edward tried everything: trips, toys, even a puppy. His daughter’s answer was always the same:

—I love Anna.

Reluctantly, he began to notice her more. The way she patiently combed Sophie’s hair, how she listened when she spoke, and how she filled the house with quiet laughter. Anna wasn’t spectacular, but she was genuine: her kindness was understated, her presence comforting.

For the first time, Edward wondered if he hadn’t been looking for the wrong kind of woman.

Two weeks later, during a charity gala, Sophie disappeared. Panic gripped everyone, until she was found near the dessert buffet, crying.

“She wanted an ice cream,” a waiter stammered, “but the other children made fun of her. They said her mother wasn’t here.”

Before Edward could react, Anna arrived. She knelt down and wiped the tears from Sophie’s cheeks.

—My darling, you don’t need ice cream to shine. You’re already special.

Sophie sniffed.
“But they said I don’t have a mom.”

Anna hesitated for a moment, then smiled sweetly.
“Yes, you do have one. She’s watching you from heaven. And in the meantime, I’ll be here, very close by.”

The room fell silent. People watched, deeply moved. And Edward understood: no amount of wealth could buy what he had just witnessed.

From then on, she stopped resisting. She watched them together: the bedtime stories, the laughter, the peace that Sophie hadn’t had since her mother’s death.

One night, Sophie tugged at his sleeve.
“Dad, promise me you’ll stop looking for other women. I’ve already chosen Anna.”

Edward smiled.
“Life isn’t that simple.”

“Why not?” she asked. “She makes us happy. Mom, up in heaven, would want that.”

Her words touched him more deeply than any contract.

Months passed, and one autumn afternoon, Edward called Anna to the garden.

—Anna—he said calmly—, I owe you an apology. I judged you unfairly.

—That’s not necessary, sir. I know my place.

“Her place,” he interrupted gently, “is where Sophie needs her. And that’s… with us.”

Her eyes widened.
“Do you mean that…?”

He nodded.
“Sophie chose her long before I did. And she was right. Would she like to be part of our family?”

From the balcony, a cheerful voice rang out:
“I told you, Dad! It was her!”

The wedding was simple: no press, no luxuries. Just family, a few friends, and a little girl who never let go of Anna’s hand.

Standing beside them, Edward finally understood: after years of chasing success, he had found what money could never buy: a real family.