“I understand that,” I said, keeping my voice level. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’re right. It won’t.” He looked at me like I was a problem he was still deciding whether to solve or eliminate. “Because if it does, we’ll need to reconsider this arrangement.”
This arrangement. Not my employment. Not my position. Just an arrangement—like I was a temporary solution to a permanent problem.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something that would definitely get me fired. But the words slipped out anyway, quieter than I planned but still there.
“You’ve really never had a day where everything fell apart? Where you did everything right and the universe messed with you anyway?”
His expression didn’t shift. Not even a flicker. “I don’t let external circumstances dictate my performance, Ms. Tinsley. I expect the same from anyone working in this household.”
“Must be nice,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Excuse me?”
I should have backed down, apologized or retreated. Instead, something stubborn rose in my chest. Maybe it was the exhaustion or six months of walking on eggshells around a man who treated basic human struggles like personal failings.
“I said it must be nice,” I repeated, meeting his gaze. “Having drivers and private cars, never worrying about trains breaking down or being at the mercy of the MTA. Must make punctuality a lot easier.”
For a long moment, he just stared at me. I couldn’t tell if he was impressed by my audacity or calculating which bridge to dump my body off of.
“Are you finished?” His voice was flat.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He picked up a folder from his desk, opened it with deliberate calm. “Lily is waiting. I suggest you don’t waste any more of her time with excuses.”
Dismissed. Just like that.
I left before my mouth could get me into more trouble.
The hallway felt longer than usual. My heart was still racing from the confrontation, frustration mixing with the familiar anxiety of almost losing something I couldn’t afford to lose. I forced myself to breathe. To compartmentalize. By the time Ireached the living room, I’d managed to shove Hector’s coldness into a mental box labeled “deal with later.”
Lily was exactly where I expected her to be.
Curled up on the oversized couch, sketchbook in her lap, completely lost in whatever world she was creating. Her dark hair fell forward, hiding most of her face. One leg tucked under her, the other dangling off the edge. She looked so small in this enormous room with its floor-to-ceiling windows.
The tension in my shoulders eased. This part made sense. This part was easy.
“Hey, Lily bug,” I said softly, settling onto the couch beside her—but not too close. Always leaving space, letting her control the distance between us. “What are you working on today?”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up. But after a moment, she shifted slightly, angling the sketchbook so I could see.
The movement was careful—measured. Not quite an invitation, not quite hiding. Just letting me into her world at her own pace, on her own terms.
I leaned forward just enough to see properly. A figure in a flowing dress, arms stretched upward in a graceful arc, one leg extended in a perfect line. The colors were bold and alive. Pink and purple and gold all bleeding together in a way that shouldn’t have worked but somehow did.
“Oh, Lily.” Warmth slipped into my voice before I could stop it. “A ballerina. This is absolutely beautiful.”
Her fingers paused on the purple crayon she held, just for a heartbeat. But I caught it. That tiny acknowledgment that she’d heard me.
“I love the way you did her dress,” I continued, keeping my voice gentle. “All those colors swirling together. And her arms reaching up like that. She looks like she’s flying, doesn’t she?”
Lily’s hand moved again, adding small details to the dancer’s skirt. The crayon moved with more confidence now, like my presence had given her permission to be bolder.
“You know what I think?” I shifted slightly closer, slow enough that she could move away if she wanted to. She didn’t. “I think she’s dancing to her favorite song. The kind of song that makes you forget everything else and just move.”
Lily tilted her head slightly, considering the drawing. Then, so carefully I almost missed it, she reached for the gold crayon and added small stars around the ballerina. Little points of light surrounding the dancer like magic.
