“I just… need to lie down,” she whispered softly. “I’m feeling dizzy again.”
“Is he… a good man? Doesn’t he hurt you?” the maid asked cautiously.
The girl looked up in surprise.
“This is my dad,” she said. “And he helps me… I’m sick.”
And, as if afraid Angela wouldn’t believe her, the girl unzipped her backpack. Inside were medical containers, sterile bags, and documents.
“We come here every month,” the girl explained, “because there’s a doctor here who does my dialysis. It takes a long time… and I’m always weak afterwards.”
Angela caught her breath.
At that moment, the man returned. He saw the open backpack, Angela’s gaze, the pale girl—and understood everything.
“She was just worried,” the girl said before he could ask. “She thought… you were mean.”
The man smiled wearily, sadly, without offense.
