My chest tightened. I could feel anger burning behind my ribs, but I kept my face blank as I continued drying dishes.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept seeing her face. The following week, when her booking came up again, I made a decision.
When I arrived, she greeted me the same way she always did, with a tight smile and a complaint ready on her tongue.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Apologies, ma’am. Traffic.”
“Excuses,” she muttered. “Start in the living room. The mayor’s wife is dropping by again.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Then, as I set down my supplies, I added, “By the way, I brought you something.”
Her brows rose, suspicion flickering in her eyes. “For me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said evenly. “Just a little surprise. I thought you might appreciate it.”
She sniffed. “We’ll see about that.” I smiled faintly and turned away, my heart pounding. Because this time, I wasn’t just there to clean. I was there to confront the ghost of my past.
