Blanche's POV
Roger and Irene sat rigid on the living room couch. Tension hung thick in the air, nobody daring to break the silence. Steam rose from the untouched tea set on the coffee table.
The moment I stepped into the room, Roger straightened. "Blanche, would you make us some tea?" His voice carried a familiar warmth. "It's been ages since you've brewed a proper cup."
Before my marriage to Zain, Roger had always savored my tea-making ritual. He'd share business stories while I worked, though back then I barely listened—just nodded along with polite smiles and empty responses.
The memory stung now. I'd thrown myself at the Jacob family, people who'd never lifted a finger for me. Meanwhile, my own parents had sacrificed everything to raise me, only to watch me transform into someone else's devoted servant. The irony was crushing.
"Of course," I murmured, settling onto the small stool by the tea table. My hands moved through the familiar motions automatically.
