I floated beside Wyatt and looked down at the death certificate in his hands.
Cause of Death: Respiratory Failure
Place of Death: Home
Thankfully, I'd hired a cleaner before things got too bad.
Every Saturday morning at eight, she came to clean my apartment.
I'd given her the front door code.
She'd laughed after seeing it. "That's way too easy."
I never changed it.
Ever since I was little, I'd used the same password for my diary, my safe, and even my phone.
The day I died, she showed up like always. Instead of finding a messy apartment, she found me slumped over in my wheelchair.
Vomit covered the floor beside me.
I always felt guilty toward her. I paid her the lowest hourly rate possible, yet she worked harder than anyone.
She'd always laugh and say, "Less money, less work."
