Sometimes he curses himself.
Sometimes he says he cannot do it, and you say, “Then we stop for tonight, not forever.”
Slowly, something impossible begins to happen.
His legs respond.
Not fully.
Not easily.
But enough.
The first time he takes one step between the wheelchair and the bed, he nearly falls. You catch him, both of you crashing against the mattress, breathless and shocked.
Then he starts laughing.
Not politely.
Not bitterly.
Laughing like the sound has been trapped inside him for three years and finally found a window.
You laugh too, covering your mouth so nobody hears.
He looks at you, still smiling.
“María,” he whispers.
You blink.
He has never said your name like that before.
Like it is something gentle.
“What?”
“I took a step.”
“You did.”
“I took a step.”
“You did,” you say again, smiling so hard your face hurts.
His eyes shine.
And in that moment, you forget the mansion.
You forget the uniform.
You forget the family that sold your future for eight hundred dollars a month and called it gratitude.
For one perfect second, you are simply two young people kneeling on a bedroom floor, staring at a miracle nobody else believed in.
But miracles attract danger.
The first sign comes from Mr. Sterling.
You are leaving Alejandro’s room at 1:12 a.m. when the butler appears at the end of the hall.
Your heart stops.
He stands beneath a wall sconce, tall and thin, his silver hair perfectly combed even in the middle of the night.
“Maria,” he says.
You clutch the empty tray in your hands.
“Mr. Sterling.”
“What are you doing on the third floor at this hour?”
Your mouth goes dry.
“Mr. Alejandro was thirsty.”
“At one in the morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes move to the door behind you.
“His medical schedule does not require nighttime service.”
You lower your head.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
He watches you for so long you feel sweat form beneath your collar.
Then he says, “Do not become attached to things that are not yours.”
The words are quiet.
Almost kind.
That makes them worse.
You nod and walk past him, forcing yourself not to run.
The next night, you tell Alejandro.
He goes still.
“Sterling knows something.”
“Should we stop?”
He looks at the braces.
His answer comes slowly.
“No.”
You knew he would say that.
You are relieved and terrified.
A few days later, you find the first hidden camera.
It is not in Alejandro’s room.
