Ophelia's POV
I won't let this job slip through my hands that easily. I had gone through the flier, and I took an interest in it. For the first time, I felt determined to do something as I stood in front of the mirror, wanting to look as moral as possible. Grandma’s long old skirt, which was surprisingly fitting, paired with a sweater and boots. My hair was packed in a neat bun, and the whole look gave the image of a perfect wife and mother of three. The kind of mother who wakes up at six to make breakfast for her kids, packs lunch boxes, and in the evening helps her kids with their homework. The kind of woman who always has a comforting smile on her face and the patience of a saint—not that Ophelia.
I thought this was the change I needed, but I couldn't stop every bone in me from missin
