Ruth’s fingers dug into her shoulder, not hard enough to bruise, but enough to warn.
“You should be thankful,” she replied coldly. “Without us, you would have nothing. Do not forget that.”
Maya was sent to the back room.
It was a cramped, airless space hidden behind the showroom, with peeling walls and a single flickering bulb. The heat gathered there, thick and suffocating. Mold crept across the corners like dark fingerprints. Maya hated that room, yet she endured it silently, convinced that suffering was the price of not being a burden.
That same evening, Michael and Lillian arrived at the boutique. The front was immaculate, glowing with warm light and polished surfaces. Pauline and Ruth greeted them with forced enthusiasm.
“The dress will be ready shortly,” Pauline said. “Just a few final touches.”
They were asked to wait. Time passed, and Lillian’s patience wore thin. Then, faint but unmistakable, a sound drifted through the air. A child humming, slow and gentle, filled with longing.
Lillian froze. “That song,” she whispered. “It’s from my show.”
Michael frowned, listening closely. The sound was coming from somewhere customers were not meant to go.
“Let’s check,” he said, uneasy.