Rosalie
“I’ll just put these away before I go for the day, Queen Rosalie,” said the pleasantly plump elderly woman as she sidestepped around the kitchen counter, a basket of laundry in her arms.
“Oh, don’t worry about that Gretchen, just leave the basket next to the stairs and I’ll do it later.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind—”
“It’s nothing, really! There’s much less laundry to put away now that the kids are gone.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat, giving her a forced smile. Gretchen gave me a sober smile of her own, her eyes misting with understanding.
“They always come back, my Queen. I promise, they do. Soon you’ll be overrun by grandkids, mark my words!” She walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway, setting the laundry basket on the stairs before retrieving her coat.
