Emma opened the door before he knocked. Her curly hair was tied with an old elastic band. She wore an oversized shirt and broken sandals.
“You really came,” she whispered.
Victor crouched to her height, something he never would have imagined doing.
“Of course I did. Where’s your mom?”
Inside, the living room was small but tidy. Ana lay unconscious on the couch. Victor recognized her from the office hallways: quiet, invisible, always looking down. Now she looked pale and fragile.
The refrigerator stood half open, nearly empty. A pot with leftover rice sat on the stove.
“I tried to cook,” Emma said quietly. “Since lunchtime she said her head hurt… then she stopped talking.”
The ambulance siren cut through the street.
Paramedics rushed in, checking Ana quickly.
Low blood pressure. Severe dehydration. Anemia. She needed immediate hospitalization.
“Are you family?” one paramedic asked.
Victor hesitated. Saying “I’m her boss” suddenly felt meaningless.
“I’m… her employer,” he said.
Emma grabbed his leg tightly.
“Will you stay with me?” she asked.
Victor felt something break inside him. His life had always been about distance—never getting involved, never letting anyone depend on him.