A maid moved through the manor's eastern wing with mechanical efficiency, her hands working automatically while her mind wandered elsewhere.
She was polishing silverware in one of the smaller dining rooms. Tedious work, but quiet, which meant time to think without interruption. Each piece received the same careful attention.
Cloth wrapped around fingers, circular motions, checking for spots in the light streaming through the windows.
Three more weeks.
The thought repeated itself like a mantra.
Just three more weeks until Mother's next treatment payment is due.
She could make it. She would make it. The physician said the treatment was working, that her mother's condition had stabilized. Just needed to keep paying. Keep working. Keep her head down and survive until the next payment, and the one after that, and the one after that.
The rhythm was soothing. Polish, check, set aside. Polish, check, set aside.
