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The mansion stood like a king among buildings—tall, proud, silent, too silent.
Inside the master bedroom, where white-and-gold luxury dripped from every corner, Anthony sat on his bed staring at nothing. Thirty years old, handsome, powerful, rich enough to buy three countries and still have change left for suya.
Yet sleep had rejected him like a bad loan application.
He sighed deeply and checked the time.
12:29 a.m.
He froze.
Here we go again.
He did not even bother closing his eyes because he already knew what would happen.
And right on time—12:30 a.m.
His eyes snapped open, wide and alert, like someone had whispered, “You owe me money,” into his ear.
Anthony groaned and fell back onto the bed.
“Ah, sleep. What did I do to you? Did I offend your ancestors?”
Silence answered him, as usual.
Five years ago, everything had been different.
His parents were alive.
The house was noisy.
His mother would shout from the kitchen, “Anthony, if you don’t come and eat now, I will give your food to the dog!”
His father would laugh loudly. “Let the boy rest, woman. He is running companies, not chasing goats.”
Anthony would roll his eyes. “Daddy, please. I’m not chasing goats.”
“Good, because goats will defeat you.”
Laughter. Warmth. Life.
Then everything ended.
A car accident.
One phone call.
One moment gone.
Just like that.
The funeral had not even ended when the war began.
His uncle. His cousin. Family turned into competitors overnight.
“You are too young to run this empire.”
“Your father promised me shares.”
“You don’t understand business like we do.”
Anthony had looked at them calmly. “Try me.”
And they did.
Court cases. Boardroom fights. Betrayal. Backstabbing.
At some point, even the family lawyer started sweating as if he were watching a Hollywood movie live.
But Anthony did not break.
He fought, and he won every single time.
He protected the empire, expanded it, multiplied it.
But while he was winning outside, inside he was quietly losing something.
Sleep.
Peace.
Rest.
Back to the present.
Anthony got up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights glittered below like stars that had come down to Lagos just to show off.
He folded his arms.
“People are sleeping peacefully. Just like that,” he muttered, as if sleep were free food being shared somewhere and nobody had invited him.
He turned back into the room.
His bed looked soft, inviting, expensive… useless.
“I bought you for comfort, not decoration,” he told the bed.
The bed said nothing, because even the bed had given up on him.
Anthony had tried everything.
One doctor had adjusted his glasses and said, “You need to relax your mind.”
Anthony had blinked. “My mind runs companies. It doesn’t relax.”
Another doctor prescribed strong sleeping pills.
The result?
Anthony slept, yes—but woke up looking like someone who had borrowed sleep and could not pay it back.
Groggy. Confused.
Once he had even greeted his driver with, “Good afternoon, my shareholders.”
The driver had almost resigned.
Then came the herbalist, a serious-looking man with beads and confidence.
“This one is spiritual,” the man said.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Sleep is now doing juju?”
The herbalist ignored him and gave him a dark, suspicious-looking liquid.
“Drink this.”
Anthony sniffed it. “If I die, I will come back and sue you.”
He drank it anyway.
That night, nothing happened except stomach pain.
Anthony sat in his luxury bathroom at 2:00 a.m.
“Wonderful. Now I can’t sleep, and my stomach is protesting.”
Then came the prayer warriors.
They prayed.
They shouted.
They anointed.
One even laid hands on his pillow like it was a stubborn demon.
“You spirit of sleeplessness, come out!”
Anthony whispered, “If it comes out, please send it back inside my head.”
Nothing changed.
The only person who understood him was Mama Grace.
She knocked gently and entered his room the next morning.
“Did you sleep?”
Anthony looked at her. “Yes.”
She smiled.
Then he added, “In my dreams.”
Her smile disappeared. “Hmm.”
She walked closer, adjusting his pillow like he was still a little boy.
“You need peace, not medicine.”
Anthony sighed. “Mama Grace, if peace was for sale, I would have bought the factory.”
She laughed softly. “My son, some things are not bought.”
He looked away. “Then they should at least make them available for billionaires.”
Later that day, Mama Grace stood outside the mansion holding her small travel bag.
“I will go to the village for a few days,” she announced.
Anthony frowned. “Why?”
“I need to see my people.”
He nodded slowly. “Don’t stay too long.”
She smiled knowingly. “I won’t.”
Then she added quietly, “Maybe I will bring something back for you.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Food?”
She shook her head. “Better.”
He scoffed lightly. “Unless you are bringing sleep inside your bag, I’m not interested.”
Mama Grace just smiled—a mysterious, knowing smile.
“Oh, I might bring something even better than sleep.”
Anthony waved her off. “Safe journey.”
As her car drove away, Anthony stood on the balcony watching, unaware that somewhere in a small village, a loud, dramatic, unstoppable girl named Ma was about to enter his life and scatter everything.
The village did not believe in silence.
If a goat sneezed, three people would discuss it.
If someone coughed, five elders would form a committee.
So when Mama Grace arrived, the entire compound already knew before she stepped down from the car.
“Eh, Grace has come back from the land of money!”
“See her skin? She is now shining like generator oil.”
Mama Grace laughed, adjusting her wrapper. “You people will not kill me with greetings.”
She walked into her friend’s house.
The air was heavy—not with luxury like Anthony’s mansion, but with struggle.
Simple wooden chairs. A small table. A tired ceiling fan that rotated like it was doing the owner a favor.
On the bed lay her friend—Ma’s mother—weak but smiling.
“Grace,” she said softly.
Mama Grace rushed to her. “Ah-ah, what is this? Why are you lying down like a government project?”
They both laughed weakly.
“I’m fine. Just a small sickness.”
“Small sickness that is carrying you like this? Don’t lie to me.”
They held hands, years of friendship sitting quietly between them.
Outside, footsteps—fast, energetic.
Then the door burst open.
Ma entered like a whirlwind, sweaty, breathing hard, holding a nylon bag.
“Mama, I have brought the medicine.”
She froze when she saw Mama Grace, paused, then screamed, “Mama Grace!”
The nylon bag nearly fell.
She ran forward and hugged her dramatically.
“Ah, you have become fresh! Lagos is feeding you well!”
Mama Grace laughed loudly. “And you? You have grown into full noise.”
Ma pulled back proudly. “Yes, I graduated from Talking Academy with first class.”
Her mother shook her head. “This girl.”
Ma dropped the medicine and sat down, then immediately started talking.
“Mama Grace, you will not believe my life. I have finished school—no job. I have sense—no connection. I have beauty—no sponsor.”
Mama Grace burst into laughter.
“Your mouth will not kill you.”
Ma placed her hand on her chest dramatically. “I am suffering with talent.”
Her mother coughed and laughed at the same time. “Instead of helping me, you are doing stand-up comedy.”
Ma pointed at her. “Mama, laughter is medicine. I am saving hospital bills.”
Mama Grace watched her carefully—her energy, her heart, her light.
Then she spoke.
“Ma, do you want to work?”
Ma froze.
“Work?”
“Yes. In the city.”
Ma leaned forward. “What kind of work? Legal work or ‘don’t ask questions’ work?”
Mama Grace slapped her arm lightly. “Don’t be stupid.”
Ma grinned. “I’m listening.”
“In a big house. As a maid.”
Silence.
For the first time since she entered, Ma was quiet.
Her eyes shifted to her mother, then back to Mama Grace.
“Will they pay?”
“Yes.”
“Good money?”
“Yes.”
Ma stood up immediately. “I accept.”
Her mother blinked. “Just like that?”
Ma turned to her. “Mama, at this point, if they say I should wash a lion, I will price it first before refusing.”
Mama Grace laughed so hard she held her stomach.
The next morning, the sun had barely risen, but Ma was already dressed, bag packed, energy at full volume.
Her younger brother stood beside her, half asleep.
“Take care of Mama,” she told him seriously.
The boy nodded. “I will. But who will disturb the house when you go?”
Ma gasped. “You are calling me a disturbance? I am entertainment!”
She hugged her mother tightly. “I will send money. I will come back. One day I will carry all of you to the city.”
Her mother smiled weakly. “My daughter, just be careful.”
Ma winked. “Careful is my middle name.”
Mama Grace whispered, “Your middle name is trouble.”
When the car entered Anthony’s estate, Ma’s mouth opened and refused to close.
“Wait, wait, wait…”
She pointed at the mansion.
“Is this a house or an airport?”
Mama Grace chuckled. “This is where you will work.”
Ma clutched her chest. “If I faint, please pour water on me. Not too much. Water is expensive.”
As they entered, the maids gathered—eyes sharp, ears ready, judgment activated.
One whispered, “This one looks like she talks too much.”
Another replied, “She will talk herself out of this job.”
Ma heard them. Of course she did.
She turned slowly and smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, I talk, but I also work, so you people will not miss me.”
One maid almost bit her tongue.
Mama Grace knocked.
“Come in.”
They entered.
Anthony sat behind his desk—calm, composed, intimidating.
Ma saw him and froze for half a second.
Handsome.
Then her brain resumed.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said loudly.
Anthony nodded slightly.
Mama Grace spoke. “This is the girl I told you about.”
Anthony looked at Ma—quiet, observing, judging.
Ma shifted.
Then suddenly she started talking.
“Sir, I am very hardworking. I can clean, cook a little, arrange, organize, supervise…”
Anthony raised an eyebrow.
She continued, “I can even wash your shoes until they reflect your future.”
Mama Grace covered her face.
Ma kept going. “I will wash your bed—sorry, not wash, arrange. Unless you want me to wash it.”
Anthony blinked slowly.
Then a small laugh escaped him.
Ma froze. “Sir, you are laughing. Should I continue?”
He shook his head slightly. “That’s enough.”
Pause.
Then: “You’re hired.”
Ma gasped loudly. “Mama Grace, I have entered billionaire destiny!”
Anthony leaned back, shaking his head.
For the first time in a long while, the office felt alive.
As Ma followed Mama Grace out, she turned back slightly and looked at Anthony just for a second.
He was already watching her—quiet, curious.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Small but powerful.
Like the beginning of a storm neither of them saw coming.
And somewhere deep inside Anthony, something stirred.
Not sleep.
Not yet.
But something close.
Something warm.
Ma woke up like someone who had just been promoted by destiny.
She sat up on the bed in the maid’s quarters, stretched dramatically, and declared, “Good morning, future millionaire.”
One of the maids on the other bed hissed, “Please reduce your volume. This is not a market.”
Ma smiled sweetly. “Sorry, I forgot. In rich people’s houses, even noise is expensive.”
Another maid muttered under her breath, “This one will not last.”
Ma turned instantly. “Don’t worry, I came with spare life. Even if I expire, I will renew.”
Dressed in her crisp black-and-white apron, curly hair tied neatly in a bun, Ma stepped into the mansion like she already owned two percent of the shares.
She cleaned fast, efficiently, but with commentary.
As she wiped the glass table in the living room, she spoke to it.
“Shine well. Your owner is rich. Don’t embarrass him.”
One maid passing by paused. “Who are you talking to?”
Ma did not look up. “Motivation. Everything needs encouragement.”
In the kitchen, she was arranging plates when she suddenly gasped.
“Mama Grace!”
Mama Grace turned. “What is it?”
Ma held up a golden spoon. “This spoon—if it enters my village, they will give it a title.”
Mama Grace burst out laughing. “Focus on your work.”
“I am focusing. I’m just appreciating wealth.”
The other maids gathered later, as expected.
“Did you see how she talks?”
“She thinks this place is a comedy show.”
“Let’s see how long she survives.”
But one maid, Ngozi, smiled. “I like her. At least this house is not looking like a cemetery again.”
Upstairs, Anthony stood behind his glass window, watching the compound absentmindedly.
Then he heard it.
Laughter.
Loud. Uncontrolled. Different.
He frowned slightly. “What is that noise?”
His assistant cleared his throat. “Sir, the new maid.”
Anthony did not respond, but he kept listening.
Something about that laughter.
It did not annoy him.
It pulled at something.
That evening, Anthony walked into the dining area, then paused.
He turned to Mama Grace.
“I want dinner in my room tonight.”
Mama Grace raised an eyebrow slightly. “Your room?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
But as she turned away, she smiled to herself.
It has started.
In the kitchen, Mama Grace handed the tray to Ma.
“Take this to his room.”
Ma froze. “His room?”
“Yes.”
“The main room?”
“Yes.”
“The billionaire room?”
Mama Grace sighed. “Ma, go.”
Ma carried the tray carefully, muttering, “If I break this plate, they will use me to replace it.”
She knocked.
“Come in.”
Ma entered slowly, then stopped.
Her eyes widened.
God.
The room was breathtaking.
White, gold, soft lighting, luxury everywhere.
Even the air looked expensive.
Anthony sat on his bed, laptop open, calm as ever.
Ma walked in carefully and placed the tray beside him.
“Your food, sir.”
Silence.
She turned to leave, paused, turned back, looked at the sofa, looked at him… then she sat down.
Anthony looked up slowly, confused, but said nothing.
Ma smiled.
“Sir, should I go?”
Silence.
She nodded. “Okay, I will stay small.”
Anthony blinked once.
She started.
“Sir, do you know that in my village, one goat nearly killed somebody because of an insult?”
Anthony picked up his spoon. “No.”
“Eh, it happened!”
She leaned forward dramatically.
“This goat—very wicked goat. Somebody insulted its mother.”
Anthony paused mid-bite. “The goat had a mother?”
Ma gasped. “Sir, every goat has a mother. How will it be born?”
Anthony almost smiled.
She continued, acting everything.
“The goat looked at her like this.”
She widened her eyes ridiculously.
Anthony lowered his spoon slightly.
“Then what?”
Ma lit up. “Ah, you are interested!”
She stood up halfway, acting the scene.
“The goat started chasing her. The woman ran. Her wrapper fell. The whole village gathered!”
Anthony’s shoulders shook slightly.
Ma clapped her hands. “Sir, I laughed until my destiny almost shifted.”
Anthony tried to stay serious but failed.
A soft laugh escaped him.
Ma froze dramatically.
She pointed at him. “You laughed!”
He cleared his throat quickly. “I didn’t.”
“You did. I heard it. Should I continue?”
He shook his head slightly.
Then Ma grinned like she had just signed a contract.
She talked and talked and talked.
Stories. Jokes. Village drama.
Her voice filled the room.
Warm. Alive. Different.
Anthony ate quietly.
But his mind was not on the food.
It was on her.
Her energy. Her light. Her freedom.
Something he had not felt in years.
Then slowly her voice began to fade.
Her words slowed.
Her head tilted.
And suddenly—silence.
Anthony looked up.
Ma had fallen asleep on his sofa just like that.
Mouth slightly open.
Peaceful.
Unbothered.
Anthony stared at her.
“Unbelievable.”
He stood up slowly and walked to her.
For a moment, he just looked.
Then he picked up a blanket and covered her gently—careful, soft, like she might break.
He stepped back, still watching her.
Something in his chest softened.
Anthony returned to his bed, lay down, and stared at the ceiling.
Then he closed his eyes.
And for the first time in five years—no fear, no tension, no 12:30 a.m.
Minutes passed.
Then sleep came.
Deep. Heavy. Peaceful.
Like a long-lost friend finally finding its way back home.
On the sofa, Ma slept peacefully without knowing what she had done.
On the bed, Anthony slept deeply without knowing how.
But somewhere in that quiet, beautiful white-and-gold room, something had changed.
Not just sleep.
Not just peace.
Destiny itself had shifted.
And neither of them was ready for what was coming next.
Morning came gently.
Soft sunlight slipped through the tall glass windows, dancing across the white-and-gold bedroom like it paid rent.
Everything looked calm.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Ma was the first to wake up.
She stretched lazily. “Ah, this sleep, eh—”
She froze.
Her eyes widened slowly.
She looked around.
Gold. White. Luxury. Silence.
Then her brain reset.
“Wait.”
She sat up instantly.
“Where am I?”
She looked down.
Soft, creamy sofa.
Then she turned and saw him.
Anthony, sleeping on his bed peacefully like a baby who had just drunk expensive milk.
Ma’s mouth dropped open.
“I am finished.”
She stood up quietly, hands on her head.
“God, how did I sleep in a billionaire’s bedroom? Is this how people disappear?”
She tiptoed, then stopped and turned back to look at him again.
Still sleeping.
Calm. Breathing evenly.
Ma whispered dramatically, “Sir, if this is a dream, please wake up before they sack me.”
No response.
She clutched her chest. “I cannot die like this. My village people will laugh at me.”
She carried her slippers in her hand, walking on her toes like a thief in a Nollywood movie.
Each step careful, slow, suspicious.
She reached the door, paused, turned the handle gently.
Click.
She froze, looked back.
Anthony did not move.
She exhaled slowly, opened the door, and slipped out.
Then immediately, she ran.
Ma burst into the maid’s quarters like she had just escaped prison.
One maid sat up. “Why are you running like NEPA just brought light?”
Ma placed her hand on her chest, breathing hard. “I almost died.”
Another maid frowned. “What happened?”
Ma leaned closer and whispered loudly, “I slept in his room.”
Silence.
Then—
“Eh?!”
All the maids sat up.
“What do you mean you slept in his room?”
“Are you mad?”
“Do you want to be sacked before breakfast?”
Ma covered her face. “I don’t know how it happened. I was talking, then sleep just came like a thief.”
One maid shook her head. “This girl is finished.”
Another added, “Pack your load.”
Ma gasped. “Load? What load? I just arrived!”
Meanwhile, Anthony was still asleep—peaceful, undisturbed.
For the first time in five years, morning came without fear.
No sudden waking.
No panic.
No emptiness.
Just rest.
Anthony opened his eyes slowly.
He blinked, sat up, looked around, confused.
Morning.
He checked the time, then froze.
“Wait.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“I slept.”
He stood up quickly and walked around the room.
Nothing broken. Nothing strange.
Then his eyes landed on the sofa—empty.
And it clicked.
Ma.
He sat down slowly on the bed, thinking, processing.
Last night.
Her voice. Her laughter. Her presence.
Then sleep.
Deep, peaceful sleep.
Anthony stood up again—sharp, focused.
“It’s her.”
Ma was trying to blend into the kitchen like nothing had happened, but her face—guilty. Very guilty.
Mama Grace noticed immediately.
“Ma.”
Ma jumped. “Yes, Mama?”
“Why are you looking like someone who stole a goat?”
Ma forced a smile. “I did not steal a goat. I respect goats.”
Mama Grace narrowed her eyes.
Ma leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“Mama Grace… I slept in his room.”
Mama Grace blinked once. “You what?”
“Accidentally.”
Before Mama Grace could respond, a voice echoed from the staircase.
“Ma.”
Everything froze.
Ma turned slowly, like a generator that was about to spoil.
Anthony stood there—calm, unreadable, dangerous.
Ma swallowed. “Sir…”
Then she turned and tried to run.
“Come back.”
She froze mid-step, closed her eyes. “Jesus, I am coming.”
Ma walked back slowly, head down, hands together like she was about to beg for her life.
“Sir, I’m sorry. It was not intentional. Sleep just came, and I didn’t invite it. I will not do it again. I respect your bed. I respect your room. I respect your sleep—”
“Ma.”
She stopped and looked up slowly. “Yes, sir.”
“Serve my breakfast in my room.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the spoons in the kitchen seemed to pause.
Ma blinked.
“Sir… my breakfast in your room?”
“Yes.”
She pointed at herself. “Me?”
“Yes.”
Ma looked around—confused, suspicious. “Sir, are you sure nothing is wrong with you?”
Mama Grace coughed to hide her laughter.
Anthony’s lips twitched slightly. “Just do as I said.”
Anthony turned to all the maids, his voice calm but firm.
“From today, no one serves me food except Ma.”
Gasps filled the room.
Shock. Jealousy. Confusion.
One maid whispered, “Ha! It has happened.”
Another muttered, “This girl used something.”
Ma stood there, still confused, still shocked, still trying to understand her life.
The maids were already gathered like early morning news reporters.
“Did you hear what Oga said?”
“Only Ma will serve him food.”
“Ha! This is no longer maid work. This is promotion with benefits,” Ngozi whispered, trying not to laugh. “Maybe she will soon collect staff of office.”
Another maid hissed. “Don’t joke. This thing is serious.”
In the kitchen, Ma stood in front of the breakfast tray like it was an exam she had not studied for.
Bread. Eggs. Tea. Everything arranged perfectly.
She folded her arms.
“So now I am doing VIP service.”
Mama Grace entered quietly. “Ma, carry the food.”
Ma leaned closer. “Mama Grace, are you sure he is okay? Because this behavior is behaving somehow.”
Mama Grace smiled knowingly. “Just go.”
Ma picked up the tray slowly. “If anything happens to me, please tell my mother I tried.”
Ma walked through the long polished hallway, each step echoing like drumbeats.
Left leg. Right leg. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.
She reached his door, paused, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Come in.”
Her heart jumped.
She entered the same room.
White. Gold. Calm. Dangerous for her destiny.
Anthony sat on the bed, already awake, looking like a man who had slept for the first time in forever—which he had.
Ma walked in carefully and placed the tray down.
“Your breakfast, sir.”
Silence.
She turned immediately.
Time to escape.
“But—”
She froze, closed her eyes briefly.
“Yes, sir.”
She turned slowly.
Anthony looked at her calmly, observing.
Then he said, “So no story today?”
Ma blinked. “Story?”
“Yes. Yesterday you talked like a radio station. Today you are quiet.”
Ma straightened instantly. “Ah, sir, that one was a mistake. I have corrected my behavior. I am now a silent maid.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Silent?”
“Yes, sir. Very silent. You will not even know I exist.”
He leaned back slightly. “I knew you existed last night.”
Ma’s eyes widened. “Sir?”
“You slept in my room.”
She gasped. “I said sorry.”
“I didn’t complain.”
She paused, confused. Very confused.
“You didn’t?”
“No.”
Ma looked around like hidden cameras were watching her.
“This is suspicious.”
Anthony gestured. “Sit.”
Ma jumped back. “Sit?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
He pointed at the chair.
Ma placed her hand on her chest. “Sir, I am just a maid. If I sit here, my ancestors will faint.”
Anthony almost smiled. “Sit.”
She slowly sat down like someone entering a dangerous contract.
Back straight. Eyes alert. Ready to run.
Anthony started eating.
Ma watched him, then looked at the food, then back at him.
“Sir… are you sure this food is not poisoned?”
He paused mid-bite. “Why would it be poisoned?”
Ma shrugged. “Because my life is moving too fast. Something must be wrong.”
Anthony chuckled quietly.
As they ate, something shifted.
The silence was not awkward anymore.
It was soft.
Comfortable.
Different.
Anthony looked at her again.
Really looked.
Her expressive eyes. Her lively face. The way she could not stay quiet even when she tried.
“Ma.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Talk.”
She blinked. “You want me to talk?”
“Yes.”
Ma dropped her spoon dramatically. “Sir, you don’t know what you are asking for.”
“I do.”
“You will regret it.”
“I won’t.”
She leaned forward slowly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Anthony relaxed. “Continue.”
And just like that, Ma came alive again.
“Sir, let me tell you what happened on my street one time…”
She started acting, talking, gesturing, her voice filling the room again.
Anthony ate slowly, listening, watching.
Something about her presence made everything lighter.
Easier.
Alive.
He did not interrupt.
Did not stop her.
Did not want to.
Meanwhile, the maids were restless.
“She has been there too long.”
“What are they doing inside? Breakfast does not take this long.”
One maid whispered angrily, “I will go and check.”
Mama Grace appeared like a warning spirit. “Try it.”
The maids stopped immediately.
Mama Grace crossed her arms. “No one goes upstairs.”
They all kept quiet, but their minds were burning.
Ma finished one of her dramatic stories.
“And that is how the chicken nearly became a politician.”
Anthony laughed openly this time.
No hiding.
Ma froze, then smiled slowly.
“You like my stories.”
He did not deny it. “They’re interesting.”
She placed her hand on her chest proudly. “I am a full package.”
He looked at her quietly.
Something deeper in his gaze now.
Not just amusement.
Not just curiosity.
Something warmer.
Stronger.
Dangerous.
Ma stood up quickly. “I should go and work.”
Anthony did not stop her, but his eyes followed her—careful, thoughtful.
As she reached the door, she paused, turned slightly, and looked at him.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Why me?”
He held her gaze.
“For now, I don’t know.”
A small pause.
Then he added quietly, “But I will find out.”
Ma stepped out of the room slowly, her heart beating faster than normal.
“This work is not normal,” she whispered to herself.
Inside the room, Anthony leaned back, thinking.
For the first time in years, his mind was not heavy, his chest was not tight, and for the first time, he was looking forward to night.
Because he knew if she was there, sleep would come.
But what neither of them knew was this: