JOAN’S POV
For days, I hid myself in my room, avoiding everyone and everything. I didn’t want to see anyone and neither was I in the mood to do anything.
I focused on the fabric in my hand as I sewed. My fingers worked mechanically, weaving the thread into the fabric, but my mind was far from focused.
Derrick.
His name alone sent an ache through my chest. I hated how much space he took up in my thoughts. I shouldn’t have felt anything for him. He was cold, detached, and utterly infuriating. And yet, every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.
I saw him with her. The way his hand lingered on her waist. A stripper. He acted like I wasn’t even there, like I didn’t exist. Well, to him I didn’t. I was just a pawn in the grand scheme of things.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. I couldn’t do this to myself anymore. Derrick didn’t care about me. Our marriage, if it could even be called that, was a contract, plain and simple.
So, why did it hurt so much?
I stabbed the needle through the fabric with more force than necessary. The action was hard enough to pull me from my thoughts. Just as I exhaled and tried to refocus, a knock sounded at the door.
I wiped my tears and sat up straighter.
“Come in,” I called out.
The door opened, and Sarah stepped in. The moment I saw her, my stomach twisted. Her usual scowl was already fixed in place. I just knew this meeting or whatever this was would not end well.
“Sarah,” I greeted “Good morning”
She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Spare me the niceties, Joan.”
I sighed, setting my sewing aside. I was tired of Sarah always treating me like the enemy. Her behaviour got even worse ever since I got engaged to Derrick.
“Why are you always like this?” I asked “I’ve done nothing to you. ”
“Nothing?” she repeated with a mocking laugh. “Oh, please. Don’t act so innocent. You’re getting engaged to the master of the house. How innocent can you really be?”
The accusation hit harder than it should, but I refused to let her see how much it hurt.
“What are you doing here, Sarah?” I ask.
“Ms. Sullivan sent me to clean your room,” she said with a shrug. “Emily was supposed to do it, but she’s busy. Funny, isn’t it? You used to be one of us, scrubbing floors and fetching laundry. Now here I am, cleaning your room.”
“I don’t want you to,” I said quickly, standing up. The idea of her cleaning my space felt… wrong. “I’ll do it myself.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “And get in trouble with Ms. Sullivan? No thanks. Keep up your innocent act, Joan. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Ignoring my protests, she began tidying up. As she cleaned, her movements were deliberately loud and exaggerated.
I sank back into my chair, my fingers trembling as I picked up the needle again. The tension in the room was suffocating, but I didn’t know how to make it stop.
As Sarah dusted the shelves, she muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear. “Must be nice, huh? Going from rags to riches. Some of us don’t have that kind of luck.”
I gripped the fabric tighter but said nothing.
She didn’t stop. “I mean, what did you do? Bat your eyelashes at him? Play the helpless damsel? Or did you just fall into his bed?”
“Enough!” The word burst out before I could stop it. I have had enough of her and her stupid attitude.
Sarah turned to me, eyebrows raised. “Oh, struck a nerve, did I?”
I turned my head to face her “You don’t know anything about me, Sarah. Not about my life, my struggles, or what this… arrangement is. So, stop pretending you do.”
For a moment, she looked taken aback, but the sneer quickly returned. “Whatever you say, miss. Just don’t forget where you came from.”
I focused on my sewing. Irefused to look up or acknowledge her again. She didn’t deserve my energy.
A knock on the door broke the tension. Who could that be?
“Come in,” I called out.
The door opened and Irene’s bright face peeked through. Her eyes lit up as she spotted me.
“Joan!” she exclaimed, stepping inside with a bounce in her step.
Before I could react, she pulled me into a warm hug. Her cheerful energy was enough to make me smile.
“Look at you,” she said, pulling back to study my face. “Have you been cooped up in here all day? You look like you’ve barely slept.”
I forced a small smile “I’ve been busy.”
Irene tilted her head “Uh-huh. And by busy, you mean brooding alone in your room?”
Her tone was teasing, but her concern was clear. I wanted to reassure her, but before I could form a response, Sarah let out a loud, exaggerated sigh from across the room.
Irene’s eyes flicked toward her, and for a moment, they locked gazes. A strange tension passed between them. I noticed the way Irene’s smile faltered just slightly, and Sarah’s lips curled into a smirk.
“Don’t mind me, ma’am” Sarah said “Just doing my job.”
Irene turned back to me, her expression softening again. “So, what’s going on, Joan? You look like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
I shrugged, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. Really.”
Irene didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she sat on the edge of my bed. She looked at the almost finished top in my lap.
“This is beautiful,” she said, gesturing to the fabric. “You’re really good at this”
“Thanks,” I said quietly.
“You should design something for me some time”
“I don’t know..”
“Why not? Who knows? You could be a big designer someday. You’ve got what it takes. Don’t you want that?”
I’d always wanted to open my own fashion house ever since I was a kid. I used to love sewing. I did it as a side job to support myself in college. But ever since my mom fell sick, I abandoned it. I doubted if I had what it took to become a big designer anymore. The dream seemed so far out of reach. Still, I appreciated Irene’s encouraging words.
As we talked, Sarah moved closer to clean the table beside me. She reached across and her arm brushed against my shoulder as she adjusted a vase. I stiffened, but she ignored me.
It was when she accidentally knocked a small glass figurine off the table that things shifted. The vase tumbled to the floor. Both Sarah and Irene moved at the same time to catch it.
Their hands collided, fingers brushing as they both reached for the vase. For a moment, they froze as their eyes met. The scene in front of me looked like it was straight out of a movie.
I frowned. In confusion, I watched as something unspoken passed between them. It was brief but unmistakable.
Irene was the first to recover. She straightened with the vase in hand. She set it back on the table with care, avoiding Sarah’s gaze as she returned to her sit on the bed.
“My bad” Sarah said. Her voice was unusually soft. She cleared her throat and a faint blush crept up her neck. “I’m sorry, ma’am”
“It’s fine” Irene said.
“I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t want to intrude.”
Without waiting for a response, she gathered her cleaning supplies and hurried out of the room.
Irene let out a small sigh and turned back to me.
“What was that about?” I asked her.
She shook her head, waving her hand dismissively “I don’t know. Sarah’s… complicated.”
I narrowed my eyes at her “Right…”
Irene placed her hand on mine. Her touch was gentle. “Joan, talk to me. Please. What’s really going on?”
Her voice was so kind, so full of genuine care, that the walls I’d been holding up began to crumble. I lowered my gaze, unable to meet her eyes as the words spilled out.
“It’s Derrick,” I admitted “He’s the reason I feel like this. The reason everything feels so… heavy.”
Irene shifted closer, pulling me into a tight hug.
“Oh, Joan,” she murmured “I’m so sorry.”
The tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. I clung to her as I silently cried.
“I don’t know why I feel this way,” I confessed through my sobs. “He’s so cold, so distant, but… but there are moments when he’s kind, and it’s like he’s a completely different person. And I hate that I care. I hate that I-”
“Shh,” Irene soothed, stroking my hair. “It’s okay to feel this way, Joan. You don’t have to fight it alone.”
Her words made me feel a bit better. For the first time in days, I felt …comfort. As I cried in her arms, the knot in my chest loosened just a little.
Even at that, the thought of Derrick lingered at the back of my mind.