More like keep watch. But I was in no position to refuse kindness.
“Yes, thank you,” I said. “Come in.”
Luzia stepped inside carrying a small plate. “I brought you something from the kitchen. Your favorite—pâté with toast points. You eat. I dry.”
How could I argue with that? I thanked her and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. The hum of the blow dryer, the rhythmic tug of the round brush, and the fancy little sandwich in my hand worked together to quiet the storm inside me.
Our eyes met in the mirror. I wasn’t expecting what I saw: compassion, unguarded and deep. She’d heard everything in the study. She knew. I teared up.
“Everything will be all right, draga mea,” she said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. The touch was light and comforting, the way a mother might steady a child who’d scraped her knee.
“What does that mean,draga mea?”
“My dear one.” Her smile was small, private. “You have a good heart. Don’t let anyone make you doubt it. The rest… it will find its way.”
How could she see goodness in me when I’d spent years barely seeing her? I’d passed her in hallways, accepted her silent service with the usualpleases andthankyous, never once asking who she was. Shame warmed my cheeks.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
Luzia paused mid-brushstroke, surprise flickering across her face. “Well… here.”
“I mean, when you’re not here. Where do you call home?”
“Romania, originally. I came here as a teenager with my family. A few years later, I married. I have two sons. They’re a bit older than you.”
“So they were kids when you started working for my parents?”
“Teenagers, actually.”
“But you’re always with my mother. When do you see them?”
She resumed brushing, slower now. “Why do you ask?”
“I should have asked before,” I said, feeling suddenly vulnerable. “You’ve always been so nice to me, and I fear I’ve been… dismissive. I grew up thinking the world turned for us, and that was that. Lately, someone showed me there are whole lives I never noticed. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel small.”
For a moment she said nothing, just blinked in surprise, but then a smile formed and she said, “Nu e nimic, draga mea. It’s nothing, my dear.”
Her words were soft and reassuring, letting me know if there had ever been any hard feelings, they were forgiven now. Luzia started on my curls while openly sharing her life with me. The story she told was heartbreaking. Her husband had passed away eight years ago, and with money tight, she’d taken a job with ourfamily while her boys stayed behind under the care of their grandmother.
I watched her for expression. She gave none.
“Wasn’t that hard?” I asked. “Being away from them?”
“Very. Every night in the beginning, I cried myself to sleep. But we women…” She met my eyes again. “We must make difficult choices. I chose to provide. I couldn’t be there the way a mother longs to be, but I gave them a good life. College. A future. For that, I have no regrets.”
Her sacrifice stirred something in me. I thought of my mother’s cold precision, Melanie’s sharp edges, my own careful walls. Then I thought of Luzia—crying alone in a strange house, rising every morning to serve a family that rarely saw her, all so her boys could have more. That was strength. Not the brittle kind that demanded perfection, but the resilient kind that bent without breaking.
“That’s beautiful,” I said, wistfully.
Luzia’s smile returned, soft and knowing. “This someone who opened your eyes—the boy from the parking lot?”
My breath caught. “How did you know?”
“Your car is often parked there. I thought it was odd since I do all the shopping. Last week I saw you step out of his truck. He hugged you. You looked… so happy,draga mea.”
Panic flared. “Did you tell my mother?”
She shook her head once. “No.”
