The Lucky One

The biting October wind of New York City gnawed at Mara's exposed skin. Two hours she'd been standing outside JFK, her hands clammy, fingers and toes aching with cold. Her employer, Miss Kendall, had promised to pick her up. She’d even double-checked the flight details, jotting them down in her planner.

“What’s taking her so long?” Mara muttered, her stomach rumbling in protest. A long, sleepless flight had left her frayed, her anxiety on high alert. The memory of the plane ride—her first ever—still sent shivers down her spine.

“Calm down, Mara, it’s gonna be alright,” she chanted, earning a curious glance from an elderly woman nearby. Even the stewardess had treated her like a fragile invalid, volunteering to escort her to the lavatory. The thought of flying again made her stomach churn, yet a pang of homesickness struck her.

Just then, a sleek black Bentley glided to a stop directly in front of her. A chauffeur emerged, holding a placard bearing her name. Mara’s eyes nearly popped out. A Bentley? This wasn't what she'd expected from her Skype conversations with Miss Kendall. As the chauffeur opened the back door, a wave of warmth enveloped her, and the plush seats beckoned. This was luxury. This was New York. And she was ready for whatever came next.