BRIAR’S POV
There’s no end to the strain of work being tossed my way. All of it seems like a vendetta.
I wash and wash until the skin of my fingers peels off, and just when the pile of laundry is almost done, someone else walks by adding to the pile.
At some point, I begin to realize that someone, somewhere, is messing with me. The laundry has never been this much or this filthy.
The sun begins to set, and I have only just begun to make a dent in the pile.
Through each strenuous chore, Deborah follows me around like a lost puppy.
A lost 6ft 3in puppy.
I would be grateful for the company if she were silent.
“You’re supposed to stomp and press into it to get the dirt out properly, My Luna,” Deborah chimes in for the fourth time since I began the recent batch with another one of h
