One morning, Arthur was in an especially bad mood. He believed — wrongly — that someone had stolen money from the safe.
Marina, another dishwasher and Lida’s closest friend at work, whispered to her,
“He probably took it himself and forgot. Just keep your head down.”
But Arthur burst into the dishwashing area, barking,
“Wallets out! I’m checking everyone.”
Marina handed over hers first. He sneered at the baby diapers inside but found no cash. Then he turned to Lida.
He rummaged through her bag and pulled out her worn leather wallet. Inside, tucked carefully behind a few small bills, was the faded photograph of her parents.
Arthur froze.
For a moment, his arrogant mask slipped. His eyes widened, his face drained of color.
“Who… who are these people?” he asked, his voice strangely strained.
Lida, taken aback, answered shortly,
“My parents. And no, they didn’t take your money.”
Arthur snapped the wallet shut and handed it back without another word. Then, without explanation, he turned and hurried out of the kitchen.
