Chapter 10
I’m in my room, looking at myself in the mirror. My suit, once black, is now covered in flour, and incredibly, for the first time, this doesn’t bother me. We had such a good time together, like we were a family—what am I thinking? No, my family was Luma.
I pause to reflect, and truly, my wife hasn’t been part of my thoughts lately. Amélie came into our lives, charmed everyone, and I confess she’s been captivating me too.
It’s certainly because of the way she takes care of my daughter, and nothing more. I unbutton my shirt as I walk to the bathroom—I need a shower. I adjust the water, and once it’s right, I step in.
I’ve been watching my daughter with the nanny from a distance, and I love seeing them interact.
Amélie treats her like a daughter, teaches her right from wrong, and corrects her with love and affection.
When I decided to become a judge, I knew I had to be perceptive about many things, and over time I developed that skill. So I’m an excellent observer.
I dug deeper into the nanny’s life and didn’t find anything beyond what I already knew.
Excellent student, lots of friends at college, always studious—I’ve seen her studying in the living room at night several times.
She doesn’t cause trouble. Sometimes I’ve heard her talking on the phone with her grandmother, practically every day.
So far, what I’ve seen of her has pleased me. We’ll see how things go from here.
I turn off the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and head to my closet. I grab my usual sleeping shorts and, without putting on a shirt, lie down on my bed. The memories of the day come flooding back. It was fun, and I was happy to see my daughter being loved.
I’ve been lying there for a few minutes when thirst hits.
I look at my nightstand but don’t find my water bottle, so I decide to head down to the kitchen.
It’s late, and the house is completely silent.
I go down the stairs without making a sound, and as I approach the kitchen, I see the light on.
I wonder who could be there at this hour.
I walk in and don’t see anyone—just the light on. But as I approach the refrigerator, barefoot, I slip and fall flat on my butt. That’s when the culprit appears.
“My God, Mr. Owen, what a fright,” she says, laughing, seeing me sprawled out on the floor.
“Could you stop laughing and help me?” I ask angrily, frowning. But the smile remains on that pest’s face.
“I’m sorry, sir. I went to get milk and the carton burst. I closed the refrigerator door and was looking for a cloth to clean it up. I didn’t expect anyone to come in here. And forgive me for laughing, but you looked really funny lying there on the floor.”
“I didn’t find slipping funny at all.”
I grab my water and—damn—I’ll have to take another shower. I’m covered in milk, and it’s already getting sticky.
I leave the kitchen, knowing Amélie will be laughing at me behind my back, so I shoot her one more frown before heading up to my room. Cheeky girl—how can she laugh like that, right in my face, without any shame?
I’ve noticed she has absolutely no filter—says whatever she wants, and at the worst moments. I’ve gotten used to that sharp tongue of hers. I’ve heard plenty of lectures from her, for example, though I don’t pay attention to what she says. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here anymore.
I just let it go—for my daughter’s sake, since she loves her so much. Only for that reason. I take another shower and pop a painkiller while I’m at it, because that fall was bad. I’ll definitely have a bruise tomorrow.
I lie down on my bed and try to sleep, but that little devil won’t let me.
I keep replaying what happened—me on the floor, literally sprawled in the milk, and her laughing with a cloth in one hand and a broom in the other, all disheveled.
I smile at the scene. I don’t blame her—after all, accidents happen.
Who told me to go down to the kitchen barefoot?
I end up falling asleep without realizing it, probably because of the medicine I took. I wake up the next day to the alarm clock, but when I roll over to turn it off, I feel a sharp pain in my femur—the part that hit the floor hard. I’ll have to take something stronger, which I hate doing.
I get up with great difficulty and go straight to the bathroom—maybe hot water will help. I stay there for what feels like hours, hoping it will ease the pain at least a little. Luckily, I don’t have any meetings or hearings scheduled today, so I can take it easy.
I get out of the shower and put on sweatpants and a t-shirt. I leave the room limping and make my way to the kitchen with difficulty. Everyone looks at me.
“What? Never seen me before?”
“You’re limping—did something happen?” one of the girls asks. At that moment, I glance sideways at that damned Amélie, who has a cup in her hands, sipping her coffee as if none of this has anything to do with her.
“I had the displeasure of slipping here in the kitchen yesterday, and I think I hit my femur on the floor. I took a painkiller, but it didn’t help much.”
“I’ll get an ointment for you, and if you want, I’ll call Dr. Roger too.”
“There’s no need. Another painkiller and that ointment of yours should do the trick, Mama.”
“I’ll get it. Just wait a moment.”
Mama returns with a small white jar without any label. I eye her suspiciously, and she immediately responds.
“Don’t worry, you can use it. It’s an ointment made with medicinal herbs.”
“You old folks and your remedies. Will this really take away my pain?”
“Trust me, boy.”
“If you need help, I can do it—after all, you got hurt because of me.”
We all turn to look at Amélie, who realizes what she just said, covers her mouth, and goes wide-eyed, apologizing immediately. My God, this girl is going to get me in trouble one of these days.
“Thank you, but I'll do it myself. I'm going up to my room. If you need anything, I'll be in the office later—you can find me there. Mama, please prepare my breakfast and bring it to the office. I'll be there in ten minutes.”
“All right, my son.”
And so I leave the kitchen and head to my room, take another pill, and apply the ointment Mama gave me.
The smell is strong but pleasant. I spread it thoroughly over all the sore spots, put my clothes back on, and go downstairs.
I smile when I think of Amélie—she's so open and honest, and that's what I find so charming about her.