Peace of mind second.
Jasmine pushed through her front door looking like she’d just been dragged behind that town car instead of riding in it. She locked the deadbolt, then the chain, then tested the handle like she didn’t trust the damn thing to hold.
Smart.
I crunched another chip and watched her drop her purse onto the counter like it weighed fifty pounds. Her shoulders sagged, and for a moment she just stood there staring at nothing, like she was trying to remember how to breathe.
“They’re running you ragged,” I muttered to the screen.
She kicked off her heels and rubbed the back of her neck, rolling it side to side before wandering into the kitchen. The pantry door opened, and suddenly she was rearranging cans that had no business being rearranged. Rice got shifted. Pasta got straightened. Labels got turned so they faced forward like she was running inventory at a grocery store.
Stress habit.
People who couldn’t control the big shit tried to control the little shit.
I’d seen it a thousand times.
She made ramen, but she barely ate it. Fork lifted, dropped, lifted again. Her phone lit up once with a notification, and she snatched it up so fast it was like she’d been waiting for it.
Or dreading it.
That thought stuck with me.
She eventually drifted down the hallway toward her bedroom, and the hallway camera caught her pause at the threshold. She stood there for a few seconds, shoulders tight, like she was gearing herself up to walk into something unpleasant instead of her own damn room.
Then she disappeared inside.
That was where my view ended.
On purpose.
I leaned back in my chair and stared at the blank space on the monitor where her bedroom door had closed. I told myself that was enough. I didn’t need to know what she did once that door shut. I didn’t need to know what pajamas she wore or whether she slept on her side or her back or face-down into the pillow like she was trying to suffocate the day out of her lungs.
That wasn’t why I was here.
A few minutes later she came back into frame, changed into sweats, hair loose around her shoulders, face scrubbed clean of whatever makeup she’d worn to that damn office. She looked younger without it. Softer. But not relaxed.
Never relaxed.
She dropped onto the couch instead of going to bed and just sat there, elbows on her knees, staring at her phone like it was going to explode.
Then it lit up.
She froze.
Not startled.
Not surprised.
Resigned.
That was worse.
Her spine straightened as she answered. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I didn’t need to. The tension in her posture told me enough. Her jaw tightened. Her free hand curled into her thigh.
“Yes,” I saw her mouth.
She hung up and stared at the wall like she was counting backward from ten before standing up.
