So is your father.
Your heart drops.
Your mother will not look at you. Your father looks hungover, angry, and ashamed. Damian stands near the fireplace, smiling.
Doña Isabella sits on the sofa like a queen preparing judgment.
“Maria,” she says coldly, “your services are no longer needed.”
Your mother’s head snaps up.
“What did she do?”
“She has become inappropriate with Mr. Alejandro.”
Your face burns.
“That’s not true.”
Damian laughs softly.
“Careful.”
Doña Isabella continues.
“We are generous people. We will pay one month’s wages if you leave quietly and never contact this family again.”
Your mother grabs your arm.
“Apologize,” she hisses. “Do you know what this job means?”
For a second, you are seventeen again in the kitchen of your old house, begging to stay in school while adults decide your life has a price.
Then the elevator doors open.
Everyone turns.
Alejandro stands inside.
Not sitting.
Standing.
He grips a walker with both hands. His braces are locked around his legs. His face is pale with effort, but his eyes are alive.
The room freezes.
Doña Isabella covers her mouth.
