The Way You Treat a Stranger
She saw the bent stems of the roses.
She saw the exhaustion weighing down the shoulders of the woman at the desk, and she saw, on the faces of the two receptionists, the particular expression of men who have decided someone is beneath them.
And Lupita set her towels down on a nearby luggage cart, and stepped forward, into a situation that was, by every rule of the hotel’s hierarchy, none of her business.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she said softly.
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