At home, Reina noticed her restless pacing.
“You look like something’s really wrong,” he said.
She told him everything—the illness, the room, the smell.
“I’m just the cleaner,” Brianna whispered. “What if he thinks I’m crossing a line?”
“And what if you’re right?” Reina asked firmly. “Could you live with staying silent?”
The next morning, Brianna arrived early. Zachary was in his study, looking noticeably better.
“Mr. Lowell,” she said nervously, “may I talk to you about something important?”
He looked up, surprised. “Of course.”
Carefully and respectfully, she explained what she had noticed—the damp wall, the smell, and how his health changed depending on where he spent his time.
For a moment, he said nothing.
“You think my bedroom is the problem,” he said slowly.
“Show me,” he said.
They went upstairs together. Brianna moved the cabinet aside. Zachary bent down, inhaled once—and recoiled.
“That’s awful,” he murmured. “How was this missed?”
“Because it’s hidden,” she said. “And no one stays long enough to notice.”
Specialists were called immediately. The diagnosis was serious: toxic mold caused by an old plumbing leak had been spreading behind the walls for years.
That night, Zachary slept in a guest room with open windows.
For the first time in months, he woke without nausea.
“I feel like I’ve been suffocating for years,” he said. “And now I can breathe.”
