patio stones. Make it quick. We have guests coming over at seven.”
Before I could speak, before the words the maid had even fully landed in my brain, he slammed the heavy door right in my face. A cold, terrifying stillness settled inside me, spreading outward from my chest like ice water. My blood ran cold as his words echoed in my mind, over and over. The maid is out back.
I walked slowly around the side of the house toward the backyard, my legs moving almost against my will, every step feeling heavier than the last. There, on the scorching stone patio under the afternoon sun, was my sixty-two-year-old mother.
She was wearing old, oversized rags, kneeling on the hard stone with a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing grease stains off the outdoor kitchen counters, the kind of counters I’d specifically chosen for their easy maintenance so she’d never
