“So, you’ve been the house mother for long?” I asked, peering over at her.
She had a thoughtful look to her that I admired.
“For over a decade,” she finally spoke. “I was here when Enzo’s father was here.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “So, you knew Enzo when he was a boy?”
“Yes,” she answered. “He was only 9 when I met him. He was a thin pup, and he was terrified of being here without his mum.” She looked saddened by the memory. “I knew he would need a mother to help him get through, so I cared for him like he was my own.”
“You’re like his mother?” I asked, raising my brows. “And yet you are treated like the help.”
She laughed at my wording.
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to. I enjoy being a mother figure to not just Enzo, but to the pack too. This packhouse would go hungry if I was
