Nathan Whitaker stared at the staffing folder as if the numbers had rearranged themselves while he was reading them.
They had not.
Seventeen consecutive days.
Clara Bennett’s name appeared across every one of them.
Some were ordinary sales shifts.
Some began earlier because deliveries had arrived before the boutique opened.
Several stretched later because fittings had run past closing or inventory had to be reconciled after the last customer left.
Nathan looked back at the loose delivery forms he had just gathered from beside the stockroom door.
Clara’s initials confirmed what the schedule suggested.
Morning.
Night.
Morning again.
The day that should have interrupted the stretch had a small notation beside it indicating that the planned coverage had fallen through.
Clara had worked that day too.
Nathan closed the folder halfway.
“Seventeen days?”
Clara’s face tightened.
She glanced toward the showroom, where the woman in the camel coat had suddenly become extremely interested in the stitching on a shoe she had already inspected twice.
“I can explain.”
“I’m not asking how the schedule works,” Nathan said.
“I’m asking why you worked seventeen days without telling me you were hurting.”
Clara looked at him for several seconds.
Then she looked at Lily.
The little girl was still holding out the three crumpled dollars.
“Put those away, sweetheart,” Clara said softly.
“But you need sleep.”
“I know.”
“And your hand hurts.”
“I know.”
Lily’s mouth trembled.
“Then why won’t he let you stay home?”
The question landed harder than anything Clara could have said.
Nathan’s instinct was to correct it.
He had never personally ordered Clara to work seventeen straight days.
He had never told her to hide an injury.
He had never said she should bring a child into a restricted stockroom.
Technically, he could defend himself against every accusation hanging in that hallway.
But then he remembered what he had said less than five minutes earlier.
That is not my concern.
And Lily’s answer.
She said that too.
Nathan looked at Clara.
“What did she mean when she said you said the same thing?”
Clara inhaled slowly.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters now.”
“Does it?”
Her tone was still respectful, but the automatic apology had disappeared.
That unsettled him more than anger would have.
Nathan set the folder on the counter.
“Tell me.”
Clara folded her arms, then winced when the movement pulled at her back.
Nathan noticed.
This time, he did not pretend not to.
“Lily asked me this morning why I couldn’t stay home,” Clara said.
“I told her adults have responsibilities.
