The first thing I noticed was that she did not knock.
My front doors—solid mahogany, custom carved, older than the woman trying to push through them—swung inward as my housekeeper, Elena, struggled to keep pace.
« Ma’am, she insists— »
That was as far as Elena got.
The young woman marched into my foyer as if she already owned it.
Cream-colored heels …
👇 👇 👇 👇 👇
