When he pointed to the sky, he was thinking about the stars or his mom. And when he pressed his palms together, it meant he felt safe. Gradually, he started using that sign whenever she was near.
Safety was something Vicky valued above all else. Но not everyone in the house was happy about this bond. One evening, Mrs. Gable cornered her in the kitchen.
— “I’ve seen you with the boy,” she said, her voice like ice.
Vicky felt a chill run down her spine.
— “I wasn’t doing anything wrong…”
The manager’s voice was sharp:
— “I warned you. Mr. Miller has a strict rule: the staff is not to get close to Mike.”
— “He’s just so lonely, I didn’t mean any trouble.”
— “It’s not your concern,” Mrs. Gable stepped closer. “You are here to clean, not to play house. Don’t try to fix what is permanently broken.”
Vicky bit her tongue to keep from snapping back. “Fix what is broken”—that’s what everyone said.
Even here, in the boy’s own home, everyone had given up on him.
— “If the master finds out you’re interfering, you’ll be out of here without a reference. You won’t find another decent job in this town.”
Mrs. Gable’s eyes were cold. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking like a countdown. That night, Vicky sat on her bed, staring at the wall.
She thought about her grandmother, the unpaid bills, and the paycheck she desperately needed. She thought about Mike, his sad eyes, and the pain he was hiding. She thought about that dark object she’d caught a glimpse of in his ear.
Mrs. Gable’s words wouldn’t leave her: “Don’t fix what can’t be fixed.” But what if it could be? What if everyone had been wrong all these years?
Vicky picked up her old Bible and held it close. “God, I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose this job, but I can’t ignore what I’m seeing.” She waited in the silence, feeling the weight of the decision ahead.
Outside, the moon was full, lighting up the garden. A war was raging in her heart between the need to survive and the need to do what was right. She didn’t know it yet, but the battle was almost over, because the next morning would change everything.
The morning was cold and unnaturally quiet. Vicky was sweeping the long hallway when she heard a strange sound. A dull thud, followed by total silence.
She froze, listening. Then came a sound like a muffled groan. Her heart leaped.
She ran toward the sound, toward the door leading to the conservatory. There, on a stone bench, sat Mike. He was curled into a ball, clutching his right ear with both hands.
His face was contorted in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t make a sound. He was crying in absolute silence, and it was heartbreaking. Vicky dropped her broom and rushed to him.
She fell to her knees in front of the boy, her hands shaking.
— “Mike, look at me!” she shouted in her mind.
He opened his eyes—red, wet with tears, and full of pain.
She carefully gestured: “Does your ear hurt?”
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