Chapter Two: The Mansion's Smallest Servant
The first morning in the Montemayor mansion felt like waking up in a dream Mira hadn't chosen.
The room they gave her was more of a storage space behind the laundry. No windows, only one flickering bulb overhead, and the mattress was thin—but it was still warmer than the streets outside. Mira rose before sunrise, just like her mother used to, folding her blanket with careful hands and tying her hair back into a low, neat bun.
She hadn't cried since the burial. There was no time.
"Come," said Tiya Marta, handing her a damp rag. "You'll start with the stairs. Don't skip corners."
The marble staircase gleamed like water. Mira scrubbed in silence, her fingers quickly learning the rhythm: left to right, then top to bottom. When her arms hurt, she didn't complain. When her knees bruised, she didn't stop.
By mid-morning, she had polished three hallways, helped mop the kitchen floor, and carried fresh towels to the guest rooms.
"You're small," the butler, Manong Lito, told her as she passed him. "But quick."
She gave him a shy smile.
Not everyone in the house was kind. Some ignored her completely. Others whispered when she passed. But a few—like Dona Isabella—gave her glances of something Mira couldn't name yet. Something soft. Familiar.
During her short lunch break, she sat on a bench behind the kitchen and ate rice with dried fish from a small plate. Alone.
Until someone's shadow appeared before her.
"What are you doing in my garden?" came a voice, higher-pitched but sharp.
Mira looked up to see Catalina Montemayor—in a frilly dress, hair in perfect braids tied with silk ribbons, and holding a pink parasol that she didn't need.
"I-I'm eating," Mira replied, swallowing quickly and standing up.
Catalina's eyes narrowed. "This is my favorite spot. You can't sit here unless I say so."
"I didn't know, po. I'll move."
But Catalina didn't budge. She just tilted her head.
"You're the new maid girl."
Mira said nothing.
"I'm Catalina. My daddy is Don Ricardo, and this is my house."
Mira nodded. "I'm Mira."
"I don't like you eating alone," Catalina said suddenly.
Mira looked at her, unsure if that was a threat or a kindness.
"You should eat in the back, with the other helpers. Not here. This spot is for daughters."
Catalina twirled her parasol and walked away, leaving the air heavy behind her.
Mira sat down again, quietly. She finished her lunch faster than usual and returned to work without saying a word.
Over the next few days, Mira learned the mansion's rhythm.
Wake early. Clean the second-floor hallway before sunrise. Collect dirty laundry. Help Tiya Marta fold. Learn to iron handkerchiefs without burning edges. Run to the bakery with Dona Isabella's orders. Learn the names of each guest room—Magnolia, Sampaguita, and Orchid. And most importantly: stay out of Catalina's way.
But one evening, while Mira was helping carry clean towels upstairs, she tripped on her way down. A towel rolled across the floor.
Catalina, passing by with her doll, laughed.
"Even towels run from you."
Mira flushed red but picked it up silently.
Catalina paused, then added with a shrug, "You fold better than Tiya Marta though."
That was the closest thing to a compliment Mira would get from her.
A week passed. Then two. Mira never complained. Not when the shoes were muddy, not when the socks smelled, not even when her knees ached from scrubbing.
Dona Isabella watched her one morning, as Mira struggled to lift a pail of water nearly half her size.
"She's strong," Isabella whispered to herself.
Manong Lito overheard. "Not just strong, Señora. She's got her mother's grit."
Isabella's smile was faint. "Yes. Luz taught her well."
That night, as Mira lay on her little bed, she opened her mother's locket. The tiny photo of her mama smiled back at her.
"I'll be okay, Mama," she whispered. "I'm still here."
And the mansion, with all its cold stone walls, big windows, and quiet secrets, began to feel a little less like a cage.
End of Chapter Two