Inside were twelve envelopes. Three months of my blood, sweat, and absolute humiliation. Exactly $1,800.
To Bruno, this was a joke. A trivial amount of money to keep his “fool” of a wife occupied while he plotted to steal an estate worth nearly a million dollars. He had been watching me. He knew about the shoebox. He was letting me keep it because, in his twisted mind, it was the ultimate evidence of my greed and deception.
“You think I’m trapped?” I whispered to the empty room, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “You think I’m the one who’s going to lose everything?”
A cold, sharp clarity replaced the sorrow. If Bruno wanted to play a game of shadows, I would give him a masterclass. He thought he was playing chess against a pawn, completely unaware that the pawn had already reached the other side of the board.
I didn’t stop cleaning. In fact, over the next four days, I became obsessed. But I wasn’t cleaning for Bruno anymore. I was searching.
