I pulled the paper away.
Inside was a mop.
Nothing fancy. No brand name. Just a cheap plastic mop you’d grab on clearance.
Trevor burst out laughing. “Now you won’t complain about the old one squeaking anymore!”
I stared at it, my face burning. “You bought me a mop. For my birthday.”
“You’re always cleaning,” he said casually. “I figured it made sense.”
“I clean because no one else does,” I replied quietly. “Not because I enjoy it.”
He shrugged. “You’re good at it. You know your place. You keep the house together.”
Those words sat heavy in the air.
He didn’t notice my silence. He was already pulling on his jersey. “Be nice today, okay? Maybe make some snacks. The guys’ll be hungry.”
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