“I told her to stop.”
Samantha put down the knife.
“I’m cutting breakfast for twelve people.”
“And she won’t make coffee.”
Victoria looked at Samantha.
“Make the coffee.”
“It takes thirty seconds.”
“Then why are you arguing?”
That logic always ended the same way.
Samantha made it.
Olivia took the cup without thanks.
Before leaving she glanced toward Samantha.
“Wear something clean tonight.”
Samantha looked at her stained apron.
“I was planning to roll around in dirt first.”
Olivia frowned.
“You’re getting really strange lately.”
When she left, Samantha resumed cutting strawberries.
Evelyn Brooks entered through the service hallway carrying a bag of groceries.
Evelyn had worked for the Collins family for twenty-eight years.
She was sixty-seven, Black, slender, with short natural gray hair, sensible shoes, and the kind of calm face that made other people confess things without understanding why.
She had been housekeeper, cook, nanny, chauffeur, nurse, mediator, and occasionally the only adult in the mansion who spoke to Samantha as if she belonged there.
She set down the grocery bag.
“Happy birthday.”
Samantha looked at her.
The words almost hurt.
“Thank you.”
Evelyn opened her arms.
Samantha stepped into them.
For three seconds, maybe five, she allowed herself to be somebody’s child.
Evelyn pulled back.
“Twenty.”
“Apparently.”
“How does it feel?”
“Like nineteen with more dishes.”
Evelyn’s smile faded slightly.
“She still hasn’t said anything?”
“No.”
“She knows.”
“I know she knows.”
Evelyn studied Samantha.
“What are you going to tell her?”
Samantha froze.
“You know?”
“I’ve been watching you hide Berkeley envelopes under cookbooks for two months.”
Samantha laughed.
“I thought I was subtle.”
“You live with amateurs.”
Evelyn began unpacking groceries.
“You’re going.”
Samantha’s smile disappeared.
“I got partial funding.”
“That is not what I said.”
“I still need housing.”
“You’re going.”
“My mother will—”
“Your mother is not the weather.”
Samantha looked at her.
Evelyn continued.
“She wants you to believe every decision passes through her because that makes the world feel smaller.”
“World is bigger than Victoria Collins.”
Samantha lowered her voice.
“She’ll cut me off.”
“From what?”
It was a brutal question precisely because it was accurate.
Samantha stared at the strawberries.
Evelyn softened.
“I know it feels like she gives you everything.”
“She does give me things.”
“She gives you enough to make leaving frightening.”
“That’s different.”
Samantha said nothing.
At eight, Charlotte came downstairs.
Unlike Olivia, Charlotte always thanked Samantha.
That had once made Samantha believe Charlotte was kinder.
As they got older, Samantha learned gratitude could coexist comfortably with entitlement.
Charlotte accepted whatever was handed to her and thanked people beautifully.
She simply never questioned why it was being handed over.
“You made the almond yogurt?”
“It’s in the refrigerator.”
“Thank you.”
Charlotte smiled.
Then noticed Samantha’s expression.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s your birthday, right?”
Samantha looked at her.
Charlotte’s face shifted.
“Oh my God.”
She covered her mouth.