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We ate together in Dad’s room, sharing stories and laughter between spoonfuls of broth. It was these simple moments that kept us tethered through storms—love woven into the fabric of our daily lives.
Melody regaled us with tales from her latest photography project while Josie spoke softly about her studies. Their visits were an elixir for Dad’s spirits; I could see it in the way his eyes lit up and how he insisted on sitting up straighter in bed. They were my best friends, and it warmed my heart to see how close they were with my father.
The night grew deep around us, and eventually Melody glanced at her watch with a reluctant sigh. “I’ve got an early shoot tomorrow,” she said, standing and stretching.
Josie followed suit, gathering her things. “We’ll come by again soon.”
After they left, I tucked Dad in and kissed his forehead—our nightly ritual—before retreating to my own small room. Alone at last with my thoughts, I replayed my encounter with Cassius Portman in my mind’s eye—a momentary escape before sleep claimed me and whisked me away to dreams where masquerade balls were realities rather than wistful fantasies.
I picked up my phone, thumb hovering over Melody’s name. The secret was too vibrant to keep locked inside any longer. I tapped out a message, my heart racing as I invited them over for coffee the next day. They needed to hear about this in person.
The following afternoon, with Dad resting and the apartment bathed in soft daylight, I opened the door to Melody’s beaming face and Josie’s quiet smile. The familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee filled our tiny living room as we gathered around our rickety table.
“I have something to tell you,” I began, cradling my mug between my hands. “It’s about the Wintertide Ball.”
Josie tilted her head, a gentle curiosity in her eyes. “Something tells me it’s not about the ball at all, is it?”
My cheeks warmed as I confessed about running into Cassius Portman—the strength in his grip when he steadied me, his intoxicating presence that lingered like perfume on silk.
“The billionaire planning the ball?” Melody gasped, nearly spilling her coffee.
I nodded, feeling a thrill at sharing this piece of my day that felt so removed from my reality. “His eyes… it was like they saw right through me.”
Josie reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “Mila, that’s like something out of a fairy tale.”
“It felt unreal,” I admitted. “But then reality crashed back when my boss showed up.”
We fell into a comfortable silence as they digested my story. The sun slanted through our window, casting a golden glow on our faces and turning Melody’s hair into a fiery halo.
“So you want to go to this ball?” Melody asked after a while.
“I know it sounds silly,” I said with a self-deprecating laugh. “Maids don’t go to balls.”
“Why not?” Josie chimed in softly. “You deserve a night of magic just as much as anyone else.”
I shrugged off her words with an affectionate roll of my eyes but felt a warmth in my chest at her belief in me.
The conversation drifted then to other things—Melody’s upcoming photo shoot and Josie’s latest paper—but part of me remained at the Wintertide Hotel, dancing in Cassius Portman’s arms under a sea of twinkling lights.
***
The smell of antiseptic and lemon cleaner clung to my clothes as I stepped into our apartment, a modest structure that had felt more like a shelter than a home since Mom passed away. The soft murmur of the television in the living room where Dad rested blended with the sound of Chad and Rachel’s laughter from the kitchen.
“Hey, squirt, what’s so funny?” I asked Chad as I hung my coat on the rack by the door. At ten, he was all elbows and knees, with Mom’s warm eyes that always seemed to dance with some private joke.
Chad looked up from the comic book he was reading to Rachel, his grin wide. “Rachel thinks Captain Amazing should have a pet hamster named Sir Fluffykins.”
Rachel, with her pigtails askew, nodded vigorously. “He’d be super powerful!”
I ruffled her hair affectionately. “Maybe Captain Amazing needs a sidekick like you, huh?”
Their giggles were my reprieve from the weight of responsibility that never left my shoulders. I wished I could just freeze this moment—a snapshot where grief hadn’t yet touched their innocent world.
The brief illusion shattered as Brenda slinked into the kitchen. My Dad’s wife, my… stepmother, I guess. She leaned against the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand that probably cost more than our dinner.
“You’re back late,” Brenda said with a glance at the clock that didn’t need words to convey her annoyance.
“I had to cover an extra shift,” I replied, avoiding her gaze as I reached for some bread to make sandwiches for Chad and Rachel.
