By midday, the house was overflowing with noise and beer and muddy shoes.
Freshly cleaned floors were ruined within minutes.
Cans piled up. Grease smeared the table.
I followed behind them with a trash bag, cleaning as they laughed and shouted, as if this space didn’t belong to me too.
“There she goes,” Trevor joked, pointing at me. “Didn’t need a maid. Married one instead.”
The room exploded with laughter.
I forced a smile. “You could all help clean up, you know.”
Trevor’s expression hardened. “Careful. Don’t forget your place.”
The laughter grew louder, drowning out the tightness in my chest.
I kept wiping spills, stacking plates, refusing to cry in front of them.
In the kitchen, I washed dishes while the game roared in the background.
I hated myself for still making nachos.
When the game ended, the house was a mess.
Trevor collapsed onto the couch, smelling of alcohol.
“You can deal with this tomorrow,” he slurred.
