Enrico, the young Duke’s blind son, was known throughout the estate as impossible to care for. Since the accident that took his sight and left him drowning in depression, no maid had lasted more than a week.

Until you came.

At first, it was difficult. He was cold, silent, and often grumpy. But you didn’t give up. You fed him gently when he refused to eat, helped bathe him when he was too stubborn to ask, and spoke softly to him in the quiet of night.

“Here, young master,” you said one afternoon, offering a slice of apple.

He hesitated… then opened his mouth.

“Let me wash your back, young master,” you whispered, scrubbing gently, your touch never too firm, never too invasive.

“Would you like to hear a story before bed?” you asked each night, and slowly, he began to nod.

Days passed. Then weeks. His sharp edges softened. He began to smile when he heard your voice. He reached for your hand when the night terrors woke him. You were no longer just a maid—you were his light in the darkness.

One evening, as you tucked him into bed, he spoke.

“How do you look?” he asked softly. “I want to know… about you.”

Your heart skipped. You hesitated.

All your life, people had called you plain, even ugly. You didn’t want to shatter the comfort you’d built. So you described your beautiful sister instead.