My sister Maya, she’s studying environmental science, wants to save the whales. I told her, “Girl, start with saving your GPA first.” While making lunch, humming old songs her grandmother used to sing while dusting shelves, reading picture books out loud to the empty room. Jasmine never responded, but Felicia knew she was listening.
You can always tell when someone’s listening, even in silence. Jake was a ghost. He left at 6:00 every morning, came home after 9 every night. The only way Felicia knew he was even there was the coffee cup in the sink. The sound of his office door closing upstairs. He never asked about Jasmine. Never checked in.
Never looked Felicia in the eye. Day five, late afternoon. Snow started falling outside. Felicia sat by the window in Jasmine’s room, watching the flakes drift down, and something inside her just broke. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was being in this cold house with people who’d forgotten how to live. Maybe it was thinking about her mother, about Maya, about everything she’d lost.
She started crying quietly, just tears running down her face. She didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop. And then she felt it, a small hand on her knee. She looked down. Jasmine had moved. For the first time since Felicia arrived, the little girl had moved. She was pushing her stuffed elephant toward Felicia slowly, carefully.
An offering, their eyes met, and in that moment, something passed between them. An understanding, a recognition. I see you. I see you, too, Felicia’s breath caught. She took the elephant gently. Thank you, she whispered. Jasmine didn’t smile, didn’t speak. But her eyes stayed on Felicia’s face. Really looking, really seeing. for the first time.
That evening, Felicia was in the kitchen making soup. She was humming without realizing it, something her grandmother used to sing. She felt lighter somehow, like maybe something had shifted. The front door opened. Jake came in early, 7:30 instead of 9:00. He stopped in the doorway of the kitchen. Felicia was at the stove, stirring, humming softly, her hair pulled back, wearing an apron, looking comfortable.
And something about that scene hit him like a fist. Clare used to hum while she cooked, his jaw tightened. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, voice cold. “Your staff, not family.” Felicia turned slowly, looked at him. “Really?” looked at him. “I know exactly who I am, Mr. Morrison.” Her voice was quiet, steady.
Do you? The question hung in the air between them. Jake’s face hardened. He walked past her without another word. But upstairs in his office, he sat at his desk and couldn’t shake it. That question, do you? Because the truth was he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know who he was. Without Clare, without joy, without hope, he’d become a stranger in his own life.
And this woman, this maid, he’d barely looked at seen it in 5 days.Week two, December 18th. Boston shut down under a winter storm. Snow came down so thick you couldn’t see across the street. The city went quiet, offices closed, roads emptied. Jake had no choice but to work from home. And for the first time in 18 months, he couldn’t avoid the sounds of his own house.
He heard Felicia moving around downstairs. Heard the kettle whistling. Heard her footsteps on the stairs. Heard her talking to Jasmine, always talking like she believed the little girl could hear her. Maybe she could. Jake sat in his office staring at his computer screen, not seeing any of it, just listening. Around noon, he heard something different. Music. He stopped typing.
It was coming from Jasmine’s room. Gospel music. Old songs, the kind his grandmother used to play. He stood up, walked to his door, opened it just to crack. Felicia was singing, not performing, not trying to impress anyone, just singing because the silence was too heavy. Her voice was warm, a little offkey, but real.
This little light of mine, I’m going to let it shine. Jake’s chest tightened. He shouldn’t be listening. He turned to go back to his desk. And then he heard something that stopped his heart. A giggle. Small, breathy. Impossible. He froze. No, that’s not another giggle. Louder this time. His hands started shaking.
He moved toward Jasmine’s room slowly, like he was walking through a dream he was afraid to wake from. The door was cracked open. He looked inside. Felicia was lying on the floor, arms and legs spread out, pretending to be a snow angel, making exaggerated swooshing sounds, her face completely ridiculous. And Jasmine, God.
Jasmine was laughing, her little hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking, her eyes bright and alive in a way Jake hadn’t seen since before the accident. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but stand there and watch his daughter, his silent, broken, unreachable daughter, laughing, tears started falling before he could stop them.
He pressed his hand against the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 18 months, 18 months of silence, of doctors, of specialists, of trying everything and failing. And this woman, this stranger, this maid he’d barely spoken to. She’d done it. She’d brought his daughter back. Felicia sat up, breathing hard, grinning.
You think that was funny? Watch this. She flopped backward again, making even sillier sounds. Jasmine’s laughter rang through the room like bells, like music, like life. Jake backed away before they could see him. Went to his office, closed the door, and broke. He sat at his desk, head in his hands, and sobbed for Clare, for Jasmine.
For all the time he’d wasted being angry instead of present, for the sound of his daughter’s laughter that he thought was gone forever. His phone was on the desk. He picked it up, called his mother, Margaret. His voice cracked. She laughed. Jasmine laughed. Oh, Jake. Margaret’s voice was thick with tears. Thank God it was Felicia.
She was just playing with her. And Jasmine laughed. There was a pause. Her name is Felicia, Margaret said softly. Not the maid. Felicia, Jake closed his eyes. I know. He hung up, sat there in the silence of his office. And for the first time since Clare died, he felt something he thought was dead. Hope.
Fragile, terrifying, but real. That night, he didn’t hide. He came down for dinner, sat at the table, watched Felicia feed Jasmine, talking constantly, making silly faces, watched his daughter eat more than she had in weeks. “How did you do that?” he asked quietly. Felicia looked at him. “I didn’t do anything. I just reminded her that joy still exists.
” Jake stared at his plate. “I forgot that, too.” Felicia’s voice was gentle. I know, but she needs you to remember. He looked at Jasmine, then at Felicia, and something inside him began to Thor. 3 weeks in, December 20th, 5 days before Christmas. Something had shifted in the house. Jake started coming home earlier, 6:30 instead of 9, he’d ask questions now.
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