The phone vibrated on the kitchen table, cutting through my conversation with Mom. I nearly knocked over my glass of water reaching for it, my hands shaking. The screen showed an unknown number — one I already recognized. My heart still raced: it was her. The recruiter.
I answered fast, trying to sound calm.
"Hello?"
The cold, firm voice came from the other end.
"Miss Clara? This is Patricia. I'm calling to inform you that you've been approved in the selection process."
For a few seconds I couldn't breathe. The world stopped. I blinked without believing it, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"A-approved?" I stammered.
She sighed, as if accustomed to candidates' disbelief.
"Yes. Mr. Enrico has confirmed his choice. Please pack a bag with only essential and personal hygiene items. The uniform will be provided at the residence. The driver will pick you up tomorrow at eight sharp."
I looked around — at the poor kitchen, the peeling wall, the nearly empty cabinets. Essentials. What did I even have that was essential?
"Alright," I murmured, trying to sound professional. "I'll be ready."
She continued without room for hesitation:
"Remember: the employer is extremely particular about punctuality. Be on time. And Clara..." The pause made my stomach turn. "...bring only what's necessary. Everything else will be provided."
"Understood."
"Good. See you tomorrow."
The line went dead. I stood there, phone pressed to my ear even after the call ended. As if I still needed to confirm it had actually happened.
Mom sat at the table, watching me anxiously.
"Well?" Her voice trembled.
"I... got approved." The words came out quiet, almost unreal. "A driver's coming for me tomorrow morning."
She brought her hands to her face, and tears spilled before she could stop them.
"Thank God!" she said, sobbing, reaching for my hand. "I knew it, sweetheart. I knew He wouldn't abandon us."
My chest tightened. A mix of happiness and grief washed over me. I hugged my mother hard, feeling the sharp bone of her shoulder beneath her worn blouse.
"Mom... I'm scared."
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
"Of course you are. Who wouldn't be? But courage isn't the absence of fear, Clara. It's doing what needs to be done even when you're afraid."
I cried there, in her lap, the way I used to as a child. My brothers played in the next room, oblivious to the weight of that moment.
"I'm going to miss you all so much," I confessed, my voice thick. "I don't know if I can handle being away."
She stroked my hair with the gesture that always calmed me.
"You can handle it. Because you're stronger than you think. And because you'll be doing this for us — for your brothers and sisters." She paused, swallowing her own tears. "And for yourself too. But know that there will always be a place for you here. If you ever need to come back."
I nodded, wiping my tears with my sleeve.
"Okay. Then I need to pack."
I went up to the small room I shared with Maia. The mattress on the floor, the makeshift wardrobe of planks and bricks — everything felt even more fragile now that I knew I was leaving.
I grabbed the faded blue suitcase, a gift from a neighbor, and began separating the little I had. Two pairs of jeans, three plain T-shirts, a button-up blouse I'd worn to the interview, two simple skirts, underwear. A pair of sneakers, a pair of sandals. I made a point of folding everything neatly, as if that somehow gave more value to the worn pieces.
While packing, I glanced at the corner of the room. There he was: the stuffed frog my dad gave me on my eighth birthday. The green had faded, the stitching was loose, but it was my greatest treasure. I picked it up carefully, pressing it against my chest.
I closed my eyes and the memory came clear.
"Happy birthday, my princess." My father's voice still echoed in my mind. He was smiling, with that tired look of a man who worked too much, but full of love.
"Whenever you feel scared, hug this little frog. He'll remind you that I'm here, even when I can't actually be." That's what he'd told me.
The tears came again, inevitable. I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the frog tight.
"Dad... I hope I'm doing the right thing."
I tucked the toy carefully inside the suitcase, between the clothes, like protecting a secret.
Mom appeared in the doorway just then, leaning against the frame.
"Packing?"
"Yeah." I sniffled. "But I don't even know what to bring. They said to only bring what's essential."
She smiled, faintly but with tenderness.
"Then bring what you can't live without. The rest, honey... the rest works itself out."
I nodded. She came over, sat beside me, and took my hand.
"You know, Clara, when I met your father, he didn't have anything either. Just a pair of worn shoes and an enormous desire to make me happy." Her eyes drifted into the memory. "And he did — because he was determined. You got that from him."
"You think?" I asked softly.
"I have no doubt." She squeezed my hand. "You're going to walk into that house and show them who you are. It doesn't matter if the other candidates had more money or experience. Mr. Enrico saw something in you. And I know what it is: you have heart."
I closed my eyes, letting her words hold me up.
"I'm going to miss you so much, Mom."
She laughed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
"Me too, sweetheart. But every day you spend there is a day we get closer to a better life."
We stayed holding each other for a few minutes in silence. Only the distant sound of my brothers running through the living room filled the space.
That night, after a simple dinner, I sat down to pack a small bag with personal items: my hairbrush, soap, two old notebooks where I wrote my thoughts, a pen. I looked at my bed, at the peeling walls, trying to memorize every detail. Tomorrow would never be the same.
Before sleep, Maia curled into me.
"Are you really leaving, Clara?" she asked, eyes glistening.
"I am. But I'll come back." I kissed her forehead. "And I'll bring presents for you, for Leo, for Theo, for Mary."
She smiled, crooked little teeth showing, and closed her eyes. I lay there awake, watching my siblings sleep, my heart aching.
When the alarm went off at six in the morning, I was already on my feet. A quick shower, simple clothes, and I headed down to the kitchen. Mom was already there, brewing coffee with the last of the grounds.
At eight on the dot, we heard the honk outside.
My stomach flipped.
I grabbed my suitcase, hugged Mom, and kissed each of my siblings — still drowsy, barely understanding what was happening.
"Go with God, sweetheart," Mom said, holding my face between her hands. "And never forget: no matter how big the house you're going to live in, your real home will always be here."
Tears blinded me. I didn't want to let go. But I had to.
I took a deep breath, wiped my face, and walked out the door.
On the street, a black car waited. A tall, older driver in a suit stepped out to open the trunk.
"Miss Clara?" he asked formally.
"Yes, that's me," I whispered.
"I'm Fred. Mr. Enrico's driver. I'm here to pick you up."
I nodded, unable to speak. I handed over the suitcase. Before getting in the car, I looked back. Mom was at the window, smiling through her tears.
"Courage, Clara. Courage."
And I got into the car that would take me to a life I couldn't begin to imagine.
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