Hellen scrubbed the kitchen counters with steady focus, hot soapy water foaming thick under her hands as she wiped omelette smears and fry grease into oblivion—red jacket sleeves rolled neat to elbows, blonde ponytail swaying rhythmic with each swipe.
She was very much willing to do house duty if Emily became her wife.
Emily had bolted upstairs minutes ago, bare feet pattering faint and hurried on the hardwood stairs, bathroom door clicking shut firm behind her for a long, steaming bath.
Her raven curls still damp-clumped from tears, gray shorts and black shirt shed careless somewhere in her wake, leaving the air heavy with her fading vanilla trace.
Trash bags filled fast under Hellen's steady hands—congealed omelette plates wrapped tight in paper towels turned oily-black and sodden, coffee mugs rinsed quick under hot tap before bagged, fry crumbs swept clean into the dustpan with a few efficient flicks.
