The morning light spilled across the grand hallway, but the warmth never reached Claira’s skin.
She scrubbed the marble floor on her knees, her fingers numb from the cold water and her back aching with every bend. The mop bucket sloshed beside her, water stained with dirt and defeat. Her apron was soaked at the hem, her hair falling over her eyes, heavy with sweat and sorrow.
But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
This was her life now scrubbing floors in a house that used to be hers. A house that once echoed with her laughter, with Lucas’s arms around her waist, whispering promises. Now, every creak of the floorboards felt like a ghost of who she used to be.
She heard the familiar sound of heels clicking toward her.
Maya.
Claira didn’t look up. She kept her eyes on the floor like a well
