Becky sat outside, her legs crossed, her eyes glued to her phone; she was visibly frustrated. She had been scrolling job sites all morning, applying here and there. But none of the roles matched what she believed she deserved. Her face twisted in disgust as she read out loud one of the listings: “20 dollars a day? Really? What rubbish.”
She threw the phone onto the table and rubbed her forehead. Her perfect nails tapped on the glass table, and she kept cursing.
Just then, Bonny appeared from inside the house, balancing a tray with a glass of red wine and some crackers. Becky had asked for them earlier but had forgotten. She placed the tray gently on the small side table beside her.
“If I may, ma’am,” Bonny began, her voice careful but clear. “I’m not allowed to pry into personal matters
