“Nothing happened because someone else cared enough to call me,” Jeff shot back. “Not because you did anything.”
Mabel stood, offended. “Don’t shout at me. I’m your fiancée, not your maid.”
Jeff’s face hardened. “And what exactly do you do as my fiancée?”
Mabel’s mouth opened, but pride filled it before words could.
“You don’t cook. You don’t clean. You don’t help my father. You chase away every maid we hire because you think work is an insult.”
Mabel scoffed. “Those girls were stupid. Slow.”
“This is a home,” Jeff said, voice cracking. “Or it should be.”
Mabel folded her arms. “If you want help, hire a nurse. Hire twenty maids. I just want peace.”
Jeff stared at her, something inside him cracking like dry wood.
“There is no peace here because of your heart,” he said quietly. “And I’m beginning to think twice about this relationship.”
Mabel’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I can’t spend my life with someone who doesn’t care about anyone except herself,” Jeff said.
Mabel scoffed, masking fear with arrogance. “If you want to leave, leave.”
Jeff turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone with her phone and her pride.
A few days later, Jeff stood outside a pharmacy, leaning against his car, looking exhausted.
His company was sending him abroad for training. Two months. No excuses.
But his father’s condition had been worsening.
And he had no reliable help at home.
His phone rang. His friend Luke.
“Guy,” Luke said, “are you ready for the training abroad?”
Jeff sighed. “That’s the problem. I’m not ready.”
“What about your father?” Luke asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Jeff replied. “Mabel can’t take care of him. And every maid we hire runs away because of her.”
Luke whistled softly. “You better start praying for a miracle.”
Jeff laughed without joy. “Miracles don’t happen every day.”
He ended the call and stood there, staring at the pharmacy door like it might offer solutions.
That was when Angela walked out, holding a small nylon bag with medicines pressed to her chest.
Jeff looked up.
Angela recognized him immediately.
The man from the big gate.
The man whose fiancée had called her dirty.
Jeff’s last words echoed in her mind: I wish I could get a maid today.
Her heart kicked.
Should she speak? Should she walk away?
She remembered her mother’s medicines. The landlord. Her own exhaustion.
But she also remembered Papa James’s blessing: Your feet are blessed.
Angela stepped closer.
“Sir,” she said softly, “excuse me, please.”
Jeff turned. Their eyes met.
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