“Patience. He’s paralyzed from the neck down. Wealthy… and unbearable.”
“And the pay?”
“Very generous. That’s the only reason anyone stays.”
My heart started pounding. I should’ve walked away. I had no experience, no training, nothing but desperation. But before I could stop myself, I stepped inside.
“Excuse me,” I said, my voice shaking. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You need a caretaker?”
The older woman looked me over carefully.
“This isn’t simple work.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? He requires everything—care, attention, patience. Most professionals quit.”
“I can learn.”
“Experience?”
I thought of Bruno. Of the empty fridge.
“I have children,” I said quietly. “And I don’t have the luxury of quitting.”
Something in her expression softened.
“Your name?”
“Emma Reyes.”
“I’m Beatrice Langley. This is Nora. The position is temporary.”
Temporary still felt like salvation.
“Can I meet him?” I asked.
She handed me a card. “One-thirty. Don’t be late.”
I clutched it like it mattered more than anything I owned.
At home, I told Bruno I had an interview. Mrs. Alvarez agreed to watch the kids, as she always did without asking questions.
“You go,” she said. “But don’t stay if they treat you badly.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
I borrowed a skirt, fixed my hair, and took the bus across town. The houses grew larger with every stop until I reached Magnolia Bluff—where even the trees looked expensive.
The Zárate estate didn’t look like a home. It looked like power.
A man opened the door before I knocked.
“Miss Reyes?”
I nodded.
Inside, everything was polished—marble floors, fresh flowers, quiet wealth. I followed him to a sitting room where Beatrice waited.
“You’re on time,” she said.
“I couldn’t afford not to be.”
They questioned me carefully—about lifting, cleaning, habits, family. I answered honestly.
Then Beatrice stood. “You need to understand—he’s cruel.”
“I’ve handled worse,” I said.
She studied me, then led me upstairs.
The room was silent. Not peaceful—controlled.
Adrián Zárate sat near the window in a motorized chair. Even still, he carried authority. When he turned, his eyes were cold, sharp, tired.
He looked at me once.
“No.”
Beatrice sighed. “At least speak to her.”
“I don’t need to. She looks frightened, poor, and unqualified.”
My hands trembled, but I spoke anyway.
“I am poor,” I said. “But I’m not weak.”
He stared at me for a long second.
“Let her stay a week,” he said finally.