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It felt like I had opened a window into a secret universe.

A universe she carried quietly behind the calm, almost invisible presence she showed in my home.
And I realized—shamefully—that I had never once wondered who she was beyond “my cleaner.”

When she came by again this morning, I watched her differently.

The graceful way she lifted a vase… the soft rhythm to her steps… the concentration in her eyes. There was an artistry to everything she did, a quiet elegance.

Finally, as she wiped the kitchen counter, I found the courage to say, “I saw your paintings online.”

Her hands froze. Her head turned slowly.
For a moment she looked terrified—almost apologetic, as if her talent was something she needed permission to own.

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