Chapter 9 – THE WOMAN IN THE MIRROR

“There’s something I want to decide for myself.”

Teresa repeated the words.

Luca turned toward her.

“Anything, Mom.”

She looked at Antonio’s photograph.

Then at the silver braid resting inside its cedar box.

“I want another photograph taken.”

Luca smiled.

“Of course.”

“Not one of those formal wedding pictures.”

“What kind?”

Teresa looked toward the mirror.

“One of me. Exactly as I am now.”

Luca’s smile faded slightly.

“Mom, we can wait until your hair grows back.”

She turned toward him.

“Why?”

He hesitated.

“I thought you might feel more comfortable.”

Teresa studied his face.

“That’s what everybody keeps saying.”

Luca stopped.

I stood near the doorway, watching the realization settle over him.

He’d meant to be kind.

But he’d just suggested his mother should hide the appearance she hadn’t chosen until she could look more like her old self.

Teresa touched her short silver hair.

“I don’t love what happened to my braid.”

Her voice was steady.

“I cried when I saw it in the mirror.”

Luca nodded.

“I know.”

“But I’m still the same woman.”

He looked at her.

She continued.

“And I don’t want to spend the next year hiding from photographs until I look the way somebody thinks I should.”

Luca’s eyes softened.

“Then we’ll take the picture whenever you want.”

“Next Sunday.”

He smiled.

“At nine?”

Teresa laughed.

“At nine.”

I smiled, too.

For the first time, their Sunday tradition was becoming something new instead of something they were desperately trying to preserve.

But Teresa wasn’t finished.

“I’d like Antonio’s photograph beside me.”

Luca nodded.

“And the bracelet.”

“Of course.”

She looked toward me.

“And I want the photographer to leave the wrinkles alone.”

I laughed before I could stop myself.

“Mrs. Moretti, I don’t think you’ll have trouble convincing him.”

Teresa smiled.

“You never know. Apparently everyone thinks a woman should stop looking her age.”

Luca shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

Later that afternoon, he began discussing the changes to her bedroom.

He wanted the best lighting.

A comfortable reading chair.

New carpeting.

A handrail on the stairs.

And someone available around the clock if Teresa needed assistance.

At first, she seemed pleased.

Then he mentioned hiring someone to supervise her daily routine.

Her expression changed.

“Supervise?”

Luca looked surprised.

“Just to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“I’m seventy-eight, sweetheart. I’m not six.”

He laughed lightly.

“I know.”

“Then why would somebody need to supervise me?”

He hesitated.

“Because I want you to be safe.”

Teresa folded her hands.

“There’s a difference between helping me and deciding what I should do.”

I watched Luca absorb the words.

Then he nodded.

“You’re right.”

He sat beside her.

“What would you prefer?”

“A handrail. Better lighting. And someone I can ask for help when I need it.”

He smiled.

“That sounds reasonable.”

“And I’d like to keep my own schedule.”

“Done.”

She looked satisfied.

But then Luca turned toward me.

“Emily, perhaps we could arrange for you to spend more time assisting Mom personally.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“Sir?”

“You know her routines. She trusts you.”

Teresa looked at me.

I could see the affection in her face.

But I also knew what the suggestion could mean.

More hours.

More responsibility.

More nights when I couldn’t go home.

My mother lived with me, and my paycheck supported most of our household expenses.

I couldn’t afford to lose this job.

But I couldn’t become responsible for Teresa every hour of every day, either.

“I appreciate the trust, Mr. Moretti.”

He nodded.

“But?”

I swallowed.

“I’d need to understand what the position involved.”

Luca looked surprised.

“Whatever Mom needs, I suppose.”

That was exactly what frightened me.

Because whatever she needs could mean anything.

And I’d learned how easily kindness could become an obligation nobody thought to question.

Teresa noticed my hesitation.

“Emily?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“You don’t have to take on more work because you’re worried about disappointing us.”

My eyes filled.

“Thank you.”

Luca frowned.

“Of course she doesn’t.”

Teresa looked at him.

“Then ask what she wants before planning her future.”

The words were gentle.

But they stopped him.

I watched him glance toward the folder of abandoned wedding plans.

He understood the comparison.

He’d spent days confronting Vanessa for deciding what another woman needed without asking her.

Now, with the best intentions, he was beginning to do something similar.

He turned toward me.

“Emily, I’m sorry.”

I shook my head.

“You don’t need to apologize for wanting to help your mother.”

“Yes, I do if I forget you’ve got a life outside this house.”

I looked at him.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.

Teresa smiled faintly.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

We spent the next hour discussing changes that actually made sense.

A handrail.

A new lamp beside Teresa’s sewing chair.

A more comfortable mattress.

And a schedule that allowed her to ask for assistance without surrendering her independence.

Luca listened more than he spoke.

It was a small change.

But an important one.

When Teresa went upstairs to rest, I began clearing the dining table.

Luca remained behind.

“Emily?”

I turned.

“Yes, sir?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

He looked toward the staircase.

“Do you feel comfortable working here?”

I hesitated.

He noticed.

“Please don’t tell me what you think I want to hear.”

I set down the folded tablecloth.

For months, I’d told myself to keep quiet.

To protect my job.

To remember that families like the Morettis could replace a housemaid much more easily than a housemaid could replace a paycheck.

But I’d watched Teresa lose her dignity because everyone kept pretending silence was the same as agreement.

I couldn’t do that anymore.

“Mr. Moretti,” I said carefully, “I care about your mother very much.”

“I know.”

“And I want to keep helping her.”

He nodded.

“But?”

I looked directly at him.

“Sir, I can’t keep working here the way I have been.”