Chapter 14
Marielle returned to the estate six months later.
Not for work.
Her mother’s birthday.
One of our former cooks had invited both of them to a staff garden lunch.
Marielle almost declined.
Then came anyway.
I saw her near the roses.
No maid dress.
No apron.
No headband.
She looked younger.
Or maybe fear ages people.
I approached only after she noticed me.
Important.
“Mr. Lockridge.”
“Marielle.”
She smiled slightly.
Still formal.
Fine.
“What are you doing now?”
“Event catering.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Brave.”
She laughed.
“Different employers.”
Fair.
Then:
“I supervise desserts.”
That made both of us laugh harder than expected.
Good.
Humor returning where fear used to live.
I asked about her mother.
Better.
Stable.
Marielle sent less money now because her new job paid more.
No heroic promotion from me.
No dependency.
She built something herself.
Before leaving she said:
“I heard about the new staff rules.”
“Yes.”
“They complain about them.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I almost smiled.
Then she surprised me.
“I don’t think Odessa hated me.”
“No.”
“I think that made it worse.”
I understood.
Hatred would have at least recognized Marielle as a person.
Odessa treated her like material.
Useful.
Disposable.
Compensable.
A role in someone else’s plot.
Marielle continued:
“I hope she gets better.”
Not forgiveness.
Not friendship.
Distance with humanity.
Then she added:
“Far away from me.”
May you like
Perfect.
I agreed.
