NOTE: Please be aware of the chapters point of view.
“Can you bring this up to my room?”
I told one of our maids, handing my luggage to her. She gave me a single nod as a response and went to do what I asked her. My nose feels stuffy because of my nonstop cries earlier even when I already got inside the car I booked instead. I was even trying to stop myself from doing so because I felt embarrassed for the driver for crying in his backseat.
This big house feels so lonely despite having so many helpers around to do the house chores instead of us. Living here has always been like torturing myself. Since I am capable of understanding what I feel and knowing whether what I am told is not what I want, being here is almost like digging my own grave. May it be off the table where we all eat tog
