I trailed behind, hands weighed down by shopping bags they'd casually shoved at me. Nothing more than an on-call nanny. Invisible. Burdened.
Watching their intimacy, listening to their laughter drift on the wind, something shifted. The grievance and anger that had plagued me for days simply... evaporated. In their place, cold clarity settled over my heart.
Haven't I always been this way?
From the day I committed myself to Elijah Henson, I had walked in his shadow. For fifty years, I had been his servant.
When he was a student, I managed his food, his clothes, his comfort. When he started working, I handled everything at home so he wouldn't be distracted. When he grew old, I waited on him hand and foot.
But now? I was done.
Seventy years old. One foot in the grave. I might not wake up tomorrow morning—so why was I wasting my final days on them?
I looked down at the bags cutting into my fingers. His clothes. Her snacks. Rage surged through me, and I swung my arm and hurled everything onto the pavement.
Crash.
Clothes, drinks, and snacks scattered across the ground.
The noise shattered their romantic bubble. They turned in unison, staring at me.