The sun had barely risen, but Amara was already awake. Sleep had become a stranger lately, replaced by the weight of unspoken goodbyes and the slow ache of packing memories into boxes. Days had passed since she had informed the head maid of her resignation. Weeks, even. Yet no replacement had arrived.
She had marked the calendar in her head—the rough timeline the agency gave them. First it was supposed to be within the week. Then it was pushed. Then again. And now?
Now, nothing.
"Why is this so hard? Everyday starting to get really hard for me to decide what's right."
Amara folded Sera’s tiny socks into the drawer, smoothing the edges with mechanical grace. Sera had been clinging tighter lately, her hugs lingering longer, her gaze filled with questions Amara didn’t know how to answer.
