I spent the night staring at the ceiling of my small room. Victoria's words echoed in my head. The help. That's all I was to her. All I'd ever be.

The next morning, I made Brett's coffee like always. Black, no sugar, served at exactly 7:30 AM.

He was already dressed in his charcoal suit, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t look up when I entered.

"Your coffee, Mr. Graham," I said quietly, setting the cup on the counter.

"Thank you," he replied without looking up, his voice flat.

"Victoria ...