I awoke to murmured conversation and the smell of…cookies? Definitely some kind of baked goods. And the scent was too strong to have just come from a bakery box. No, this was the smell that permeated when the oven was being used. A scent I associated with our housekeeper Margarita. Well, former housekeeper.
My heart lurched.
She’d served my parents from before I was born until around the time I was twenty-two. She then had a massive heart attack, and my parents showed her the door with no more than a small severance check, telling her how lucky she was they’d been covering her health insurance. She’d raised three kids as a single mother, and I would’ve been shocked if she’d had much savings, given the paltry amount I knew my parents paid.
luckyOnce I’d heard about what happened, I visit
