I sat there, staring at the screen as I vaguely remembered the smell of my old room. I also remembered Diane saying she’d take care of me. At that point, I should’ve deleted the request. I told myself it wasn’t worth reopening old wounds. But my fingers hovered over the keyboard, and I typed a response without thinking much. “Accepted. I’ll handle this personally.”
I told myself it wasn’t about revenge. It was about closure. About looking her in the eye as an equal.
Three days later, I pulled up to a grand colonial-style house. It wasn’t the one my parents had owned, but it was close. When the front door opened, I saw Diane standing in the doorway wearing a pearl necklace.
“Yes?” she said sharply.
“Good morning, ma’am,” I replied, gripping my cleaning bag a little tighter. “I’m from PureSpace Cleaning.” She gave me a quick, dismissive once-over.
“Well, I hope you’re better than the last girl. She was sloppy and smelled of cheap detergent. Come in.”
The air smelled of lemon polish and cold marble. Every surface gleamed, but somehow the house still felt hollow.
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