I pressed the frame against my chest, unaware that it contained the one thing that would protect me. Upstairs, I folded my apron, packed the radio, and wrapped the photograph in a dish towel. Miguel, the gardener, saw me leaving through the side door.

“Where are you going?”

“To my daughter’s house. Julian dismissed me.”

“He can’t do that. Mr. Whitaker promised—”

Miguel stopped abruptly, as though he had nearly revealed something. I told him Julian could do whatever he wished now and boarded the bus. Forty minutes later, I arrived at my daughter’s apartment. Danny was completing his homework at the kitchen table.

“Abuela, why are you home on a Tuesday?”

“I’m tired, mijo. Finish your math.”

“Are you all right?”

“I will be.”

I placed the photograph on the windowsill and began thinking about finding another job.

PART 2: THE CALL THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

For three days, I contacted every family I had worked for before joining the Whitaker household. Most did not remember me. Two politely explained that they had no vacancies. By the third evening, I sat at the kitchen table without touching my dinner. Danny had gone to bed early, sensing the worry I was trying to hide. The photograph caught the last light of sunset, reminding me of the afternoon Mr. Whitaker had placed it in my hands.