CHAPTER 8: The Staff Who Had Seen Everything
The staff moved quietly after the guests left, but Ava could feel their silence.
Maria, the housekeeper, collected damp towels from the chairs. Evan, the caterer, packed untouched food into trays. Two servers folded linens stained with spilled soda and cake frosting. None of them looked directly at Ava, which somehow felt worse than if they had glared.
Ava had grown up around these people. Maria had braided her hair before school when Grace was in the hospital. Evan had baked the chocolate cupcakes Ava loved when she was eleven. The gardener, Mr. Lewis, had taught her how to plant basil in the kitchen pots.
But over the past year, Ava had begun treating them like background figures in her life. Not cruel every day, but careless. Careless enough to forget birthdays. Careless enough to complain when Maria took a sick day. Careless enough to film a server dropping a tray and laugh when the clip got attention.
Daniel had warned her. She had called him dramatic.
Now she understood why Maria’s silence hurt.
Ava approached her slowly. “Maria…”
Maria stopped folding a towel. Her face was calm, but her eyes were tired. “Yes, Miss Ava?”
The formal words stung.
Ava swallowed. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
Maria looked toward the pool, then toward the house where Daniel had gone. “Your father loves you very much.”
Ava looked down. “I know.”
“No,” Maria said gently. “You are only beginning to know.”
Ava’s eyes burned again.
Before she could answer, Daniel returned to the patio in a dry gray sweater and dark jeans. He looked composed, but his face seemed older than it had an hour ago.
The staff straightened automatically.
Daniel shook his head. “Everyone can go home. I’ll pay the full night.”
Maria began to protest. “Mr. Mercer, the cleanup—”
“Leave it,” he said. “Please. You’ve done enough.”
The staff slowly gathered their things. As Maria passed Daniel, she touched his arm with the quiet affection of someone who had watched a family break and survive more than once.
Ava saw it. She saw the respect in Maria’s face. The tenderness. The loyalty.
And she realized her father had never bought that from anyone.
He had earned it.
When the back gate closed behind the last employee, Daniel and Ava were alone beside the pool.
Ava’s dress rustled in the night wind. She wanted him to yell so she could defend herself. She wanted him to say something unfair so she could be angry again.
Instead, he walked to the edge of the water and stared at the place where he had fallen.
Then he said, “Your mother would not recognize you tonight.”
Ava’s breath broke.
“Don’t say that,” she whispered.
May you like
Daniel turned to her.
“I have avoided saying it for three years,” he said. “Maybe that was my mistake.”
