Chapter 7: The Mayor’s Shadow

Lately, people from the mayor’s house have often lingered outside our little yard.

SUVs idled at the curb, their windows tinted too dark for our block. Neighbors watched through parted curtains, gossip drifting like cigarette smoke at the corner store.

Mrs. Lewis noticed and nervously withdrew her head. "Could it be that Ben offended someone important last time, and they’re here to trouble you and your son?"

Her voice trembled. She clutched her pearl necklace, glancing at the SUV as if it might lurch forward and swallow us whole. I squeezed her hand, grateful for her concern.

I didn’t understand either. That night, Michael Quinn had spoken clearly, and though Zach looked at me with hatred, it shouldn’t be enough to keep pestering us.

Still, every time I heard a car door slam or footsteps on the sidewalk, my heart stuttered. I found myself double-checking the locks and peeking out the window after dark.

Feeling uneasy, I locked the door even tighter at night and personally escorted Ben to and from school.

Each morning, I wrapped him in his thickest coat, lunchbox in hand, and walked him past the staring neighbors and suspicious SUVs. I made sure he never walked alone.

At first, two maids from the mayor’s house came politely. "Since the young master saw you, he’s been sick, calling your name in confusion. Mrs. Quinn cannot bear it and wishes to invite you to the house to visit."

Their voices were sugary-sweet, their eyes cold. I saw through it in an instant—the invitation was less a request, more a summons.

Zach never acknowledged me as his mother—how could he miss me? Just thinking of Mrs. Quinn, as gentle in appearance as Michael but cold-hearted, sent chills down my back.

I could still picture her, dressed to perfection, smile never reaching her eyes. The kind of woman who’d shake your hand and then scrub hers with sanitizer the second your back was turned.

When I first entered the mayor’s house, Mrs. Quinn saw me as a threat. After I gave birth to Zach, I was locked in the guesthouse for four years, during which she tried to get rid of me more than once, both openly and secretly.

She’d left me with nothing—no phone, no friends, no hope. But I’d survived, stubborn as ever, clinging to the memory of the lullabies my own mother sang when times were hard.

If not for the kindness of the old housekeeper at the gate, I might never have known how I died.

That woman smuggled me bread and aspirin, risked her own job to slip me notes of encouragement. I owe her my life.

I was determined to keep my distance from the mayor’s house and shook my head to refuse the maids. "Your house has plenty of famous doctors. I am of humble status and not fit to approach the young master."

I kept my voice polite but firm, meeting their gaze with quiet defiance. No matter how they dressed it up, I wouldn’t be baited back into that gilded cage.

For several days, the maids kept coming, and I always replied the same.

The neighbors started whispering—some with pity, others with barely-hidden scorn. I held my head high, refusing to let their stares unravel me.

Finally, late at night, the maids came anxiously knocking, clearly desperate.

Their knock was sharp, echoing through the quiet house. I met them at the door, robe wrapped tightly around me, heart pounding with dread.

"Ma’am, please go just once. The young master refuses to take medicine and has had a fever for two days. He is your own child, after all."

How strange. I am no miracle worker. With all their means, isn’t it easy for Michael Quinn and Mrs. Quinn to make a child take medicine?

The implication hung in the air—a threat more than a plea. I saw the calculation in the maid’s eyes, the way she sized up my hesitation.

I wanted to refuse, but the maid glanced at Ben, who had been awakened by the noise and came out rubbing his eyes, and her tone changed.

The look she gave Ben—full of warning, not sympathy—sent a chill down my spine.

"Since you know you cannot offend the mayor’s house, aren’t you afraid that if something happens to the young master, the mayor and Mrs. Quinn will blame certain people?"

My heart clenched.

I dared not risk Ben’s safety.

The stakes were clear. In this city, the powerful always found someone to punish.

After a moment’s thought, I nodded to the maid. "Wait a moment."

I took Ben to our neighbor’s house, apologetically waking Mrs. Lewis and asking her to look after Ben in the morning.

Mrs. Lewis, still drowsy, glanced at the black SUV outside and was startled, nodding hurriedly without asking further.

She pulled Ben into a quick hug, promising to make him pancakes in the morning. I squeezed her hand in thanks, promising to return as soon as I could.

Before leaving, I carefully instructed Ben, who clung to my sleeve, looking uneasy. I gently said, "Mom will be back tomorrow."

Ben replied with disappointment, watching my figure grow distant in the snowy light.

His face pressed against the window, palms flat on the glass as I disappeared into the night.