My mother presses her lips into a severe line. “I’ll speak to him.”
Helen huffs, loud and theatrical. “I have no interest in cleaning up after a scandal. If he ruins this for the rest of us—”
“He won’t,” my mom says, tone firm enough to end the conversation.
Helen gives me one last glare—the kind that says I have eyes everywhere—then turns and disappears down the hall, mumbling about kids and consequences.
The moment she’s gone, my mom rounds on me.
“What the hell are you doing?” she hisses, stepping so close I can see the fury flickering in her pupils.
I fold my arms. “Nothing she said is true.”
“Don’t insult me,” she grabs the bridge of her nose. “You think I can’t see it? The way you look at her? The way she looks at you?”
I stay quiet.
Because she’s right. Because every truth I want to say is dangerous. Because my feelings for Victoria are the one thing I’m terrified to confess out loud.
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You’re going to get us both thrown out.”
“So what?” I snap, louder than I should, chest heaving. “Why are we even here? Why are we hiding? You never give me real answers.”
“Because they don’t concern you.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Language,” she snaps.
“No,” I fire back. “I’m done pretending we’re not in some kind of exile. I’m done walking on eggshells. Tell me the truth.”
She exhales and closes her eyes for a long second.
When she opens them again, there’s something older in her face. She looks tired.
Honestly, she looks afraid.
“The truth is,” she says slowly, “you don’t know what these people are capable of. What will they do if you ruffle the wrong feathers?”
“Feathers?” I scoff, stepping forward. “You think I give a damn about their feathers?”
“You should, because we need this job. Because this is the only roof over our heads. Because the moment we stop being useful, we disappear.”
I stare at her.
And for the first time, I see it. Fear. Not anger. Not frustration. Fear of something bigger. Something behind her eyes she refuses to name.
“Why did we really come here?” I ask, voice softer now.
She presses her fingers to her temple like she’s holding in a scream.
“We came here because it was safe,” she finally says.
“Safe from what?”
She looks at me. And then, maddeningly, she shakes her head.
“It doesn’t matter.”
