“No.”
She reached into her pocket.
“Take this.”
She handed me an envelope.
I didn’t open it.
“What is it?”
“Your first week’s salary.”
“I worked two hours.”
“Mr. Bennett pays caregivers weekly in advance.”
My hands trembled.
“How much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
I stared at her.
I thought I had misheard.
“Five thousand?”
“Yes.”
I nearly dropped the envelope.
That was more money than I had earned in three months at my old cleaning job.
“Why?”
“Because no one stays.”
I thought of Brandon.
Medicine.
Food.
Heat.
Rent.
I closed my fingers around the envelope.
“Am I fired?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked upstairs.
“I don’t know.”
I went home.
The first thing I did was take Brandon to an urgent care clinic.
He had pneumonia.
Not severe enough for hospitalization, but close.
The doctor prescribed antibiotics and told me he needed warmth, rest, fluids, and food.
I paid without checking the price.
