Veronica's POV
The next morning was uneventful. I went by my daily chores, and after dropping Janet off at her school, I went for an interview.
Unexpectedly, I got the job.
For a few seconds I just sat there as I stared at the offer letter in my hands.
I finally had a job. A real job.
Not a pity from someone. Not a job tied to humiliation. Something that I earned from my talent. Something that was mine.
A strange feeling rose inside of me.
It wasn't happiness, nor excitement. It was a relief.
Like it was my first step towards my new future.
Now, I had to head over to Imelda's office and resign.
"Veronica?" the receptionist said. "Are you sure? You won't get this much anywhere."
"What's going on?" Imelda said with Jonathan behind her.
"Miss Imelda," she said. "Veronica is submitting her resignation."
"Oh." was all that Imelda said.
"Yes," she said. "I was just telling her, no one would give as much as what you are."
I laughed inside when I saw Imelda's face as I knew she knew the truth.
For once she didn't have the 'I control you look on her.
For once, she didn't have me in the corner.
And that alone–for me was no less a achievement.
"So, you want to leave?" Imelda asked.
"Yes." was all that I said.
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "You can leave, but then I won't pay for this month."
I laughed out loud. "Oh, don't bother. Give it to Adrian. He can buy some chocolates."
After signing the letter, I pushed it towards Imelda.
Jonathan stopped her, but Imelda signed.
"Jonathan," she said. "It's okay. Anyways our work is done, she's useless for us now."
All those late nights. All the hard work creating presentations. The humiliation. The assault.
None of it had any value.
I was never an employee here as I was only a tool.
Now they're done with me…so they can let go of me.
I clenched my hands on hearing her. So, they gave me a job here because they wanted to get the deal from Sanders.
I left without looking back and went to begin my new job.
As I walked away, I didn't look back. I knew if I did, the woman who once thought she had me in her hands, would think she still had a stand.
That feeling I would not give her, ever.
Later on back at home, I was making dinner as Janet was doing her homework. Then she came over to me.
"Mommy!" she said in her bubbly voice. "Look! Today the teacher told us to make a family portrait today. I painted this one. Is it nice? Teacher said I was really good."
"It's beautiful," I said as I kneeled beside her and kissed on her forehead.
For a brief moment…
Everything felt so normal. We mother-daughter were living a simple happy life.
No lies. No secrets. No pain. No humiliation. Just love.
When I saw her painting, my smile widened in pride. Her sketching was so precise, and why not, after all she was my daughter, a painter who once had a bright future.
But when I saw the painting, I still held my smile, but there was pain behind it. I hid it as I didn't want her to be hurt more than she already was.
Just then the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!" Janet said, running over.
"Mr Rollings!" Janet chirped. "Mommy, Mr Rollings here."
Before Janet opened the door, I could swear I heard another voice – Imelda's.
And a child's laughter - Adrian.
For a moment I thought he brought them here to portray the perfect family he had with them. To show they belonged anywhere as long as he wanted..even in our small apartment.
But as the door opened, Jonathan was alone. Still, the image was still clear in my mind.
"Janet?" Jonathan said, picking her up. "What's wrong with you? We're not at a party. This is our home."
"Mr Rollings," Janet said in a voice that left Jonathan speechless. "It's hard for me to remember, so I decided to call you what I can call you everywhere."
Jonahtan put Janet down and sat on a chair and picked the painting she had kept on the table.
"Janet?" he asked. "What's this? Is this—"
"Yes," Janet said beaming. "This is my painting. Today my teacher told us to draw our family. So, I did. You know, my teacher said I was a born painter. I can make a life out of it."
"Yes," he said. "After all your mother was too was a painter before, but Janet, why didn't you paint me?"
I was surprised he still remembered I was once a painter.
"Mr Rollings." Janet said, making him get up as if he was electrocuted. "According to the school, my father is dead. How can I draw a ghost?"
For Jonatha that single line hit harder than anything.
Not because what she said was wrong, but because it was right.
Jonathan was shocked as it was what he allowed, what he agreed to.
And now— his daughter was living by it.
"Janet, why don't you go pack your bag for tomorrow?" I said as I came out holding a pot of gravy.
"Mommy," Janet paused at the door.
Her small fingers clutched the sketchbook as if her life was hanging by a thread.
"Daddy…loves them more than us, doesn't he?"
The room fell silent as Jonathan froze.
I couldn't answer. As I didn't know what to say that wouldn't hurt her. The truth or a lie she would know was a lie.
"Go to your room Janet," was all I could say.
But her question stayed back in our minds.
"Janet—"
"Jonathan," I said. "Let her go. And don't get angry. After all, she's doing what you want. Jonathan, Janet is a little seven year old girl. At this age, she understood what you made her do. She's seven years old and she knows to tell everyone at school her father is dead, when he's…" My voice faded.
"Nicky," he said. "You know why I said that. If I'm to pose as Imelda's fiance, how can I be your husband? Then if you don't have a husband, won't everyone question Janet's origin?"
"So, you made me a widow and her an orphan." I said in a voice that was colder than ice.
For the first time it wasn't an argument.
It was a fact that was rock solid. And it was also something I knew he would never understand what it meant to be a widow with your husband alive, or to be an orphan with your father being alive.
"Veronica!!" he yelled.
"Lower your voice.' I said. "I don't want the neighbours to think I'm having a man over when my own husband is dead."
"Nicky," he said, holding me by my arms. "Please, I only want two more months. I promise I'll not only tell the world you're my wife, but take you and Janet to Rolling's Mansion."
"Jonathan," I said. "What's your plan or Imelda's? What else do you want me to do?"
"Nicky…"
He stopped as his phone buzzed.
"I have to take this call." He went outside and came back after a few minutes.
"Nicky," he said as he came back. "I have to go."
Of course he has to. He always does when he has no words left.
I was going to set my plate, and the doorbell rang.
It had only been an hour since he left.
"Jonathan?" I was shocked to see he came back.
"Nicky," he said as he came in. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Though he was drunk, his voice was steady and full of emotions.
"Nicky," he said. "Why didn't you tell me she wasn't giving you any pay? If Robert (Accountant) hadn't told me. I asked him to let me know if you took any advance and if Imelda really kept your twenty days pay. He told me you never took any advance and she never gave you any money for the overtime you did. She also didn't give you this month's pay. How are you managing?"
"Jonathan," I said. "The same as I have for the past seven years."
"Nicky," he said. "I'm sorry I've neglected you for so long. I promise—"
"Jonathan," I said in a frank voice. "You don't have to be sorry. Actually, your neglect has made me an independent woman. Even Janet has become independent. Now when she comes home, she never asks if you'll be here for dinner. I also don't have any expectations from you. As for Imelda, now I don't work for her so I won't have to entangle with her. But still, it's best if you tell her to stay away from us."
That night Jonathan stayed back, and even wanted to be affectionate with me, but I declined saying I was tired.
So he turned away in anger hoping I would call him, but I didn't.
Seeing he had slept, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and picked the marker.
But as I passed by the table, my eyes caught a folder. It probably slipped out of his bag. A photograph of a man was peeking from the folder. I was about to pick it up as it was a photo of a young man holding a camera.
He had a smile– a genuine smile. Before I could take a proper look, Jonathan's voice came from the other room.
I placed the photo back, but I didn't know why, his face kind of stuck in my mind.
"Belated affection is cheaper than grass." I put a cross on another day. "Four left."
This time my hand didn't hesitate in cutting the day out.