He stopped leaving documents around.
He started taking phone calls outside.
And then, strangely, he became nicer.
Too nice.
He bought flowers.
He suggested dinner.
He told me I looked beautiful.
It might have worked once.
But by then, I was watching everything.
And then came the Saturday night dinner.
Mark had invited three coworkers over.
He was proud of them.
They were all senior employees at the company, and Mark spent the entire evening talking about projects, contracts, deadlines, and promotions.
I cooked.
I served the food.
I brought drinks.
I cleared plates.
Then one of his coworkers asked me a simple question.
“So, Linda, what have you been doing lately?”
Before I could answer, Mark laughed.
“She’s a cleaning lady now.”
The men chuckled.
I smiled weakly.
Then Mark added:
“Meanwhile, some of us have actual jobs.”
The laughter grew louder.
I felt my face burn.
“I work too,” I said quietly.
Mark leaned back.
“Three mornings a week, Linda. Let’s not pretend it’s the same thing.”
Nobody said anything.
I picked up the plates.
And I walked into the kitchen.
For years, I had swallowed comments like that.
Not that night.
That night, something inside me had finally gone quiet.
