Only humiliation dressed as politeness.
I drove home gripping the steering wheel so tightly my hands cramped.
The mansion was strangely silent when I stepped inside. No music from the kitchen. No smell of soup. No Rosa humming while she cleaned.
“Rosa?” I called.
No answer.
I climbed the stairs, exhaustion pressing against my chest. Halfway down the upstairs hallway, I saw light beneath the guest room door.
It stood slightly open.
I pushed it wider.
And forgot how to breathe.
The room was filled with money.
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