Chapter 4 - The Changing Wind
The next morning, the Mendoza mansion woke up to a different rhythm.
Usually, Javier was gone before the sun rose, leaving behind a silent house and a list of instructions for the staff. But this Saturday, Patricia was surprised to find the kitchen already occupied when she arrived at 7:00 AM.
Javier was standing by the stove, wearing a casual sweater and jeans, staring intensely at a frying pan.
"Mr. Javier!" Patricia gasped, nearly dropping her tote bag. "I... I'm sorry if I'm late. I can take over."
"You're not late, Patricia. You're exactly on time," Javier said, turning to her with a slightly sheepish smile. "And please, don't take over. I am currently engaged in a very serious battle with these pancakes, and I think I'm losing."
Patricia looked at the pan. The pancake inside was half-burnt and half-raw, a tragic victim of too much heat and too little patience. A small, involuntary chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop herself. She quickly covered her mouth, her cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, sir. That was unprofessional."
"No, it was accurate," Javier laughed, turning off the burner. "Sit down, Patricia. Please."
Patricia hesitated. In her five months of working here, she had never sat at the main dining table. She had always eaten her meals in the small kitchen alcove. But there was something in Javier's eyes—a vulnerability—that made her slowly pull out a chair and sit.
"I want to apologize for yesterday," Javier began, leaning against the counter. "My sister-in-law was out of line. She had no right to speak to you, or to the boys, the way she did."
"She was just worried about the children, sir," Patricia said softly, her hands folded in her lap. "She... she is right in a way. I am just the maid. I shouldn't have let them get so dirty. But they looked so sad lately, Mr. Javier. Since I started working here, I noticed they never ran. They never made noise. When I was a girl in my village, we played in the dirt every day. It makes the heart strong. I didn't want them to grow up with sad hearts."
Javier felt a lump form in his throat. Sad hearts. He had spent millions of pesos trying to buy his children happiness, when all they needed was the freedom to be messy, to be loved, and to be kids.
"You don't need to apologize," Javier said firmly. "You did more for my sons yesterday than any highly paid specialist has done in two years. I am clearing my schedule. I will be staying home more often. And I want you to continue helping me with them. Not just cleaning, Patricia. I want you to help me learn how to be a father again."
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Patricia looked up, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I would be honored, sir. But... what about Ms. Mónica? She was very angry."
"Leave Mónica to me," Javier said, his eyes hardening for a brief moment. "This is my house. These are my children. And you, Patricia, are not going anywhere."
