I stepped quietly out of my room and headed to my mother's. Gently opening the door, I tried not to wake her from her peaceful sleep. The sedatives must have kept her knocked out since we returned from the hospital. I moved toward her bed, adjusted her pillows, and placed a light kiss on her forehead.
Mother had always been a firecracker, her spirit could ignite even the dullest of rooms. But life had drained her. I'd watched her wrestle in her sleep, muttering words through trembling lips. Sometimes I'd cry. Other times, I'd smile faintly, wondering what kind of battle she was fighting in her dreams.
"Baby girl, Kaitlyn! It's now or never! Get up from that bed, come on, let's make hot soup for this cold weather, darling!" Her old voice still echoed in my mind.
As I stood beside her, watching her chest rise and fall, tears streamed down my cheeks. I wished, desperately, for a better life,for her, for us. Suddenly, she stirred and opened her eyes. Her gaze locked with mine, searching, questioning.
"And you are?" she asked.
I smiled, even though her words pierced my heart.
"It's me, Mom. Kaitlyn, your daughter," I said, gently patting her hand.
"My daughter Kaitlyn is out getting groceries. We'll be making soup today. You're not Kaitlyn," she muttered, pulling her hand away.
My heart shattered. But I had learned to live with her dementia. I swallowed the ache and changed the subject.
"I made the soup while you were sleeping. It's still hot. I'll bring it to you," I said softly, leaving the room.
As I dished out the soup, my hands shook. It was nothing fancy, mostly water, a few herbs, and a pinch of seasoning. It lacked ingredients, nutrition, flavor… but it was all I could afford. I sighed deeply. Even a basic, decent meal felt like a luxury these days.
Looking around the kitchen, I was reminded again of the state of the house. Dilapidated, decaying, it resembled something from the haunted fairytales Mom once told me. No matter how hard I tried to keep pests away, they always found their way in. Like they knew this house no longer belonged to us.
"Here's your soup, Mom. Hot and tasty. Should I feed you?" I asked, offering her my best smile.
She nodded.
"Kaitlyn, what trouble have I caused this morning that you're feeding me?" she asked, finally piecing some things together.
"Oh, it's nothing, Mom. We'll pull through. I promise I'll get you the best doctors and treatment. Just be strong for me," I said, feeding her each spoonful with care.
The soft smile she gave me in return was all the strength I needed.
*****
It was 9:00 a.m., and I was running late for an interview. I fastened the loose belt around my waist and adjusted the neckline of my gown, an old dress of Mom's. Red, body-fitting, and surprisingly flattering. I admired myself briefly in the mirror. The dress hugged my curves, my skin glowed, and my blonde hair flowed freely. For a moment, I imagined what Mom must've looked like in it.
After hugging her goodbye and giving her a final reassurance, I dashed out.
"Miss Kaitlyn, you're next," a sharply dressed man announced.
I entered the manager's office with confidence, only to be offered a dusty chair near the door. The woman who came after me, Mrs. White, was ushered closer to the manager and treated with warmth.
"Miss Kaitlyn, the janitorial role is still open. You can start immediately. Mrs. White, you'll be handling reception. Expect lots of customers," the manager said, laughing loudly and holding Mrs. White's hand flirtatiously.
I sat in silence, holding back my disappointment. Is this what people mean when they say life is full of ups and downs? I wanted to scream, but I nodded politely and accepted the job.
When I returned home, I poured my heart out to Mom. She held my hand, comforted me, and reminded me not to give up. Not yet.
******
Morning came. My first day as a janitor. I put on a worn-out uniform and waited to be picked up by my boss, an older woman who, at least on first impression, seemed calm and attentive, Madam Stella.
There was no excitement. No spark. But there was hope. A fragile thread of hope, and sometimes… that's enough.
We had cleaning services at the company's well recognized customer's mansion. Just as I was about to grab my mop, my boss, Madam Stella, called out to me from the hallway.
"Kaitlyn!" she said, her voice echoing through the tiled corridor. "Leave that for now. The owners of this big duplex just requested a live-in cleaner. They want someone permanent… and I picked you."
I froze. "Me?"
"Yes. You start today. Pack a few things and leave the rest behind, meet me at the van by 11 a.m tomorrow, after today's work. It's a full-time position. Good pay, clean quarters… but just be on your best behavior. The family is... particular."
"Particular?" I asked, but she was already walking away.
I turned to glance at the mop in my hand, then at the ceiling like it might give me answers. Something about the way she said "particular" sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn't tell if it was excitement, fear, or both, but deep down, I felt it.
This house…
Something was waiting for me there.
And it wasn't just a job.