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His chest rose with a deep breath as he wrapped an arm around her. “I miss it too, sweetheart.” He looked up at me then, his gaze steady and knowing. “But we’ve got our own little guardian angel right here.”
My heart swelled at his words—a mix of love and sorrow—and I squeezed his hand tighter.
Later that night, after tucking Chad and Rachel into bed and ensuring Dad was comfortable for the night, I sank onto the couch, Dad’s words echoing in my head.
“Guardian angel,” he had called me. But what did he see in my eyes? Was it the glimmer of someone who’d tasted a sliver of heaven at that masquerade ball?
Love? Was it possible to feel something so profound for someone I barely knew? For Cass?
I hugged my knees to my chest, wrestling with these new and unsettling emotions that danced just beyond my grasp—feelings that should have no place in my life as it stood.
But there had been something undeniable between us—a connection that felt as real as the weight of responsibility on my shoulders.
Yet here in this quiet space, with only the ticking clock for company, I resolved to lock away those fleeting moments with Cass. They were part of a world that shimmered just out of reach—a world where I didn’t belong.
Dad’s health was waning; my siblings needed me; our community center hung by a thread—all these were tangible things that demanded my attention and care.
The magic of the ball—much like my maverick evening—would remain a secret held close to my heart. It was a dream best left in the shadows of night because daylight had no mercy for such illusions.
Chapter Eleven
Mila
My alarm jolted me awake, slicing through the silence of dawn. I shoved the covers off and forced myself out of bed. Today’s just another day, I reminded myself as I got ready for my shift at the Wintertide Hotel.
In the hotel, I pushed my cart down the endless corridors, stripping beds and scrubbing bathrooms. My mind betrayed me, wandering back to the masquerade ball every chance it got. I caught glimpses of chandeliers and laughter in every polished surface, heard whispers of music in the hum of the vacuum cleaner.
“Morning, Mila!” greeted Mr. Henderson from room 512 as he stepped out with a newspaper under his arm.
“Good morning!” I chirped back with practiced cheerfulness.
“How’s your father doing?” he asked.
“He’s holding on,” I replied with a tight smile before turning back to my duties.
The hours passed in a blur of linen and disinfectant until it was time to shed my maid’s identity for another role: community pillar.
At the community center, children’s laughter rang through the air as I stepped inside. “Mila!” they chorused, bounding over with handmade crafts and stories spilling from their lips.
“Look what I made today!” Rachel beamed up at me, holding out a macaroni necklace.
“It’s beautiful,” I praised her, draping it around my neck. The weight of it was nothing compared to the responsibility I felt for this place—our sanctuary.
I made my rounds, chatting with volunteers and helping where needed. The center bustled with activity; seniors knitted in one corner while teenagers studied in another. This place was more than walls and worn carpet—it was a legacy left by my mother.
Laura Johnson had been a beacon here, touching lives with kindness and compassion. After she passed, her absence left a void that echoed through these halls. I remembered her saying once, “Community is about lifting each other up.”
As I organized art supplies for Melody’s class later that evening, her words resonated within me. My mother believed in this place fiercely—believed in its power to change lives—and now it fell on me to carry that torch. It wouldn’t be extinguished on my watch.
I paused by the faded mural she painted years ago—a tree whose leaves bore the names of those we’d helped grow. Touching the rough paint, I made a silent vow: her vision would endure through me, no matter what challenges lay ahead.
I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and glanced down at the schedule clutched in my hands. The community center buzzed with activity, a symphony of voices and laughter that seemed to lift the very air.
“Alright, everyone, let’s get ready for the after-school rush!” I called out, rallying the troops with an enthusiasm I hoped was infectious. My mother was a force of nature here, her spirit lingering in every smile and high-five. I tried to act like her, but always felt like an imposter, as if everyone knows that I was not good as my Mom was and they just play along to be nice to me.
As I organized stacks of donated books for reading hour, Rachel sidled up beside me. “Are you gonna read to us today, Mila?” she asked, clutching a dog-eared picture book.
“Of course,” I answered with a warm smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
