I took a job bathing a paralyzed billionaire because my children were starving and I had no other choice. I told myself it was only work, only a…
Her name was Mrs. Alvarez.
She was a silver-haired woman in her sixties with soft eyes and a posture so straight she seemed incapable of being intimidated by anyone.
“Mr. Bennett’s evening routine begins at five,” she explained. “Medication, bathing, dinner, stretching exercises, then bed preparation.”
I nodded carefully, trying to remember everything.
“And if I do something wrong?”
“Ask.”
Mr. Bennett let out a humorless laugh.
“She means ask her. Not me.”
Mrs. Alvarez ignored him.
“He has limited movement below the chest. Some sensation has returned in his arms and hands, but he fatigues quickly. Never move him without telling him first.”
“I understand.”
“And Rachel?”
“Yes?”
“Do not treat him like glass.”
Mr. Bennett stared at the window.
“I’m still here, Maria.”
“I know,” Mrs. Alvarez said calmly. “Which is why I’m saying it in front of you.”
For the first time that day, I almost smiled.
She showed me the bathroom attached to his bedroom.
Everything had been modified.
Handrails.
Mechanical lift.
Wide shower.
A padded bathing chair.
The kind of equipment that cost more than my apartment building.
When Mrs. Alvarez finally left us alone, silence filled the room.
Mr. Bennett watched me organize towels.
“You’ve never done this before.”
“No.”
“You’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I looked at him.
“Why is that good?”
“People who aren’t nervous usually hurt me.”
I swallowed.
That answer revealed more than he probably intended.
I approached carefully.
“I need to help you remove your shirt.”
“I’m aware.”
I began with the top button.
My fingers trembled.
Not because of him.
Because somewhere across Chicago, Brandon was still sick.
Because I had twelve dollars left in my purse.
Because if I lost this job, I had no idea what came next.
The first button opened.
Then the second.
An old scar crossed Mr. Bennett’s shoulder.
The third button revealed the thin silver chain around his neck.
I barely noticed it at first.
Then the pendant slipped free.
A small oval locket.
Silver.
Scratched along one edge.
Two initials engraved across the front.
R.M.
Everything inside me stopped.
The towel fell from my hand.
