The train's rhythm hummed like a lullaby against the distant roar of the tracks. Ashley sat alone, her face turned toward the rain-spattered window, watching the world blur by in greys and browns. Her breath fogged the glass as she whispered, "I will make it worth it, mama."
The image of her mother lingered-frail, wrapped in two blankets, yet smiling as Ashley boarded the bus in Philadelphia that would begin her journey to Connecticut. That last hug haunted her. The smell of lavender oil in her mother's scarf. The slight tremble in her arm too. She blinked rapidly, willing back the tears.
"First time traveling that far?" a woman asked from the next seat, her accent rich with New England age and ease. Ashley turned.
The woman was in her sixties, perhaps, dressed in a maroon cardigan and neat floral skirt. A gray scarf tied tightly beneath her chin, and her eyes-sharp, curious-were studying her.
"Yes, and first time leaving home for a job." Ashley replied.
"Hmm." The woman tilted her head. "Domestic?"
Ashley hesitated. "Yes. Maid job. For the Cross family."
The woman's mouth tightened like she had bitten something sour. "Oh, honey."
"What?" Ashley asked, pulse picking up. "Is something wrong?"
"I lived in that town most of my life," the woman said, her voice suddenly lower. "The Crosses… they are not cruel, not exactly. Just… cold. Their wealth has hardened them. Like they have forgotten what normal people feel like."
"Oh," Ashley murmured, heart fluttering.
The woman leaned a bit forward a little. "That estate, Cross? It's beautiful. A castle, really. But beauty hides things. Just be careful. Don't lose yourself in there."
Ashley blinked. "I'll be fine."
'I hope so, dear. I do." The woman smiled again, but it didn't reach her eyes.
After their conversation eased into silence, the train continued its steady rhythm, the hum of motion in filling the space between them. Ashley leaned back slightly, letting the words of the older woman settle
In her mind like soft echoes. There was something reassuring about her tone-firm but kind, like someone who had seen enough to know when to speak and when to let silence do the rest.
The older woman adjusted her scarf and glanced sideways.
"You'll be fine, you know," she said gently. "It's not easy work, but if you stay smart and don't let them walk all over you, you'll get through it."
Ashley nodded, her fingers gripping the handle of her bag a little tighter. "I just… I've never worked in a house like that before. It feels like walking into a different world."
"It is a different world," the woman replied with a faint chuckle. "But you still get to decide who you are in it."
Ashley smiled, a small, grateful thing. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," the woman said, brushing imaginary lint from her coat. "Just remember what I said."
And then for a while, they said nothing more. The train moved on, the landscape outside shifting between towns and trees. Ashley sat quietly, playing the conversation in her head. She wasn't sure why she had opened up so easily, but something about the woman made her feel safe-like she wasn't the only one who had ever made her feel safe-like she wasn't the only one who had ever had to figure things out the hard way.
Eventually, the train began to slow.
"Next stop, Stamford. Final destination, New Haven, Connecticut," the announcer called out."
The lady stood first. "This is me."
Ashley rose too. "Me too."
As they stepped onto the platform, the wind caught the edge of Ashley's scarf. She turned to say something more, but the woman was already a few steps ahead, merging into the crowd.
Still, Ashley felt lighter somehow. Not because the journey was over-but because she wasn't stepping into the unknown completely alone. For a brief moment on a train, someone had seen her, spoken truth to her, and passed it on like a torch.
Connecticut greeted Ashley with steel skies and biting wind. The train station felt too open, too foreign. She pulled her thin jacket tighter and stepped outside, glancing around.
No driver with her name. No waiting car. Just the cold pressing in like a hand. She called the number she had been given. Voicemail. She tried again, still nothing.
A lot of time passed and soon enough, the rain returned. The rain was light, but surprisingly insistent. She approached a hot dog vendor. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know how to get to Cross Estate?"
He eyed her suitcase, then replied. "Long way from here if you plan to go on foot. Do you have any intentions of walking?"
"I think I have to."
"Go down Birchwood, cross a small bridge, and look for tall iron gates. You can't miss it."
She could. She absolutely could.
She thanked him, proceeded to pick up her suitcase, and left.
Birchwood Lane was an endless curve of trees and drizzle. Her suitcase bumped over every stone and crack. Her boots grew soaked. Her fingers numbed.
"Stupid," she muttered. "So stupid. I should have waited. I should have asked for directions again-"
A car approached from behind. The car was sleek, black and looked like it was from an action movie. It suddenly slowed. The tinted windows rolled down.
The man inside was sharp-edged. He had a clean-shaven jaw, dark lashes, and a collared coat unbuttoned at the neck. He looked like an actor from an old-money film. He looked at her like she was a smudge on his windshield.
"Lost?" he asked, not with concern, but with judgment.
Ashley's chin lifted. "No."
"You are walking alone in the rain. Through private property." He said firmly.
"Oh, my bad! I asked for directions, and I was told this leads to the Cross Estate.
He frowned slightly. "You're one of the new hires?"
"Is that a problem?" She shot back.
"Depends on what they hired you for."
She blinked. "What?"
He tilted his head. "You don't exactly look like… house staff."
She squared her shoulders. "And you don't exactly look like someone polite."
He laughed once. "Touché."
Then he scanned her shoes. "Still, I should have known. That suitcase screams desperation."
Her jaw clenched. "Maybe it screams independence. Maybe it screams someone trying to earn an honest living."
He smirked. "You're fiery. Let's see how long that lasts inside those walls."
"Long enough to scrub the pride off people like you."
His face sharpened, as if he hadn't expected her to fight back.
And for a moment-just a flash-something sparked in his gaze. Interest? No. Couldn't be. Irritation? Perhaps.
"I'd wish you luck," he said, window already rolling up, "but it won't help."
Then he was gone, tires whispering away over the wet road.
She stood in the rain, fists tight, heart galloping.
"Asshole," she muttered.
She kept walking for about 20 minutes; she still couldn't fathom why a stranger could have been so rude to her. She was lost in thought when she noticed another car fast approaching. When the SUV finally pulled up behind her, Ashley nearly burst into tears. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair jumped out. "Miss Ashley! I am so sorry! There was a confusion-they told me the wrong platform. I have been circling." He cried.
"It's okay," she breathed, near breaking. "Thank you for coming."
"I'm Mr. Darnell, by the way," he said warmly, helping her with her bag. "I have been driving for the cross family for over ten years. You must be exhausted, miss."
"You have no idea."
As they drove, he pointed out landmarks. 'That's Maple Bridge. Great fishing there. And that hill? They say it's haunted." His voice was calming, like radio at midnight.
"You will be fine," he said softly. "You've got kind eyes. The housekeeper is a bit rough, but she means well. Just… stay clear of Mr. Jake Cross."
She froze. "Is he…?"
"The heir. Let's just say he doesn't take kindly to surprises."
Ashley's blood ran cold.
Could anyone be worse than who she had just encountered? She doubted.
They finally arrived at the Cross estate. Cross Estate was a gothic painting in real life. It contained vast stone archways, endless lawns, and windows that watched like eyes.
Inside, it had polished marble floors that stretched beneath gold chandeliers. Everything gleamed. It was cold and perfect.
"Don't gawk," a stern voice said.
Ashley turned.
The housekeeper was short, stout, and iron-faced. Her uniform was pressed to perfection.
"I'm Maureen. You will answer to me. You will clean and polish. You will also serve when asked and vanish when not. Am I clear?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Say that again."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good." She motioned toward the hallway. You'll sleep in the east wing and wake up at 5am sharp. No personal calls outside breaks. Don't get familiar with the family."
"Yes, ma'am."
She led Ashley down a long corridor of doors. When they reached a modest room, Maureen paused. "You got family back home?"
Ashley blinked. "Yes. My mom."
Maureen's mouth twitched-could that have been… sympathy?
"Don't forget her, girl. Some do. The house can swallow you whole."
Then she turned, heels clicking away.
The room was small but neat. It had a bed, desk and a closet. It had no window view. Ashley placed her suitcase down and sat on the bed. Her spine curled inward. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mother's letter.
My Ashley,
Don't forget who you are in that big house. Be strong. Be kind. But most of all, be yourself. I will
be waiting. Always, Ash.
She sniffed, pressing it to her lips.
There was a knock on the door. A deep, slow one. She opened the door. On the other side was Mr. Luke Cross. He walked in. The man who entered was every bit as commanding as the house he ruled. His presence filled the room before his voice did. He had sharp eyes, steely posture, and a suit so crisp. It looked like it had been stitched with arrogance.
Ashley stood up quickly, heart pounding as he glanced over her without a flicker of emotion.
"You are the new maid," he said flatly. Not as a question, a statement.
"Yes, sir." Ashley nodded, her voice small.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You've got her eyes."
She blinked. "Sir?"
"Your mother," he said, almost as an afterthought.
"She worked here. Years ago. Quiet woman. Kept her head down. Did her job."
A heavy silence followed. Ashley didn't know if she was supposed to reply.
"She was reliable," he continued, stepping further into the room. "Didn't meddle. Didn't speak unless spoken to." He stopped a few feet from her, studying her like a specimen under glass. "You'd do well to follow her example."
Ashley swallowed hard. "I will do my best, sir."
He stared a second longer, then gave a stiff nod. "See that you do." He turned without another word, the tap of his shoes echoing against the marble. But just before he reached the door, he paused.
"Your room's at the end of the hall. Be ready before six. No excuses."
And with that, he was gone.
Ashley let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The silence he left behind was heavier than before, like something unsaid still lingered in the air.
So her mother had once walked these halls, worked under that cold voice, kept secrets between stone walls and golden chandeliers. And now it was her turn.
Deep down-as she looked around the lavish, unfamiliar room-Ashley couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't a beginning… but the continuation of something her mother never got to finish.