Inside, he found his wife, Victoria, reviewing interior design samples.
“We need to talk,” he said.
She glanced up. “Is this about Elena? Ethan mentioned ice cream. That felt… inappropriate.”
“Her son has been sick for days. She was afraid to ask for time off.”
Victoria shrugged slightly. “Staff always have something going on.”
“Listen to yourself,” Richard replied, his voice low but sharp. “A five-year-old with a high fever is not ‘something going on.’”
He told her what he’d decided: paid time off, a raise, full health insurance coverage for Elena and Mateo, guaranteed Sundays off.
Victoria stood abruptly.
“You’re going to pay her like an executive? She cleans bathrooms, Richard.”
The silence afterward was colder than shouting.
“She helps raise our son,” he said steadily. “She keeps this house running. And we didn’t even know her child’s name.”
Victoria looked away. For a moment, something vulnerable flickered in her eyes.
“I was raised to keep distance,” she admitted quietly. “My mother said never blur lines.”
“Then maybe we learn from Ethan,” Richard said. “He saw a person crying. Not ‘the maid.’”