Chapter 3 - The Cold Commute
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That evening, Clara left the grand estate in Brookline and began the exhausting journey back to reality. She took three separate buses across the city, the cold wind biting through her thin, worn coat.
With every step she took toward the bus stops, her left foot dragged slightly. The limp was always worse when the temperature dropped. People on the street often gave her sympathetic looks, assuming a tragic car accident or a childhood illness.
Clara never corrected them. The truth was far uglier.
When she was nineteen, she had trusted a man who smiled too much. When she tried to leave him, he made sure she couldn't run fast enough. The limp was a permanent reminder of a life she had barely survived.
She finally reached her building in Chelsea. It was a crumbling brick structure that smelled of stale cigarettes and boiled cabbage. She climbed the three flights of stairs, pausing twice to press a hand against her chest.
Her heart hammered an erratic, terrifying rhythm against her ribs. She closed her eyes, silently counting to thirty until the dizzying spell passed.
Cost.
The word the free clinic doctor had used echoed in her mind. Treatment meant money. Money meant missing work. Missing work meant Noel wouldn't eat. It was a simple, brutal equation. A mother could live with a failing heart, but a child could not live if her mother fell apart.
She unlocked the door to her tiny, single-room apartment.
The space was so small that once the mattress was pulled out, there was barely room to stand. A large, dark damp stain spread across the plaster near the window like a bruised map. The heater had been broken for four winters.
"Mama!"
Noel ran across the small room, her pink glasses slightly askew, and threw her arms around Clara's legs.
Clara dropped her heavy cloth bag and scooped her daughter up, burying her face in the little girl's golden-brown curls. The exhaustion, the fear of the Duca estate, the pain in her heart—all of it vanished the moment she held Noel.
"Did you help Mrs. Miller clean the stairs today?" Clara asked, kissing Noel's cheek.
"Yes! I held the dustpan," Noel announced proudly.
Clara smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She set Noel down and opened her cloth bag. Inside, carefully wrapped in a napkin, were three uneaten dinner rolls and a small, perfectly wrapped square of expensive dark chocolate.
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"Mrs. Dora left a surprise for you," Clara whispered, handing the chocolate to Noel.
As Noel happily unwrapped the treat, Clara reached into the very bottom of the bag. Her fingers brushed against a small, rusted tin box. She didn't open it. She just rested her hand on the cold metal for a few seconds, drawing strength from whatever secret lay inside, before turning to boil water on the hotplate to warm the freezing room.
