And no one wanted to confront what that might mean.
Every day followed the same pattern.
The mother sat in the sunroom or her bedroom, barely eating, barely speaking.
The millionaire showed up in the afternoons, preoccupied with calls and meetings.
He rarely stayed long.
I came in early to tidy up, manage small tasks, and ensure the house didn’t fall apart around an aging woman.
There was a power imbalance here.
The millionaire, with his wealth and status, wielded his authority like a shield.
Mrs. Sanchez’s status as an employee meant her actions were carefully watched.
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