Music blasting in my ears, mop in one hand, I spun around the living room like I owned it. The sunlight poured through the big glass windows, and the marble floor reflected everything so perfectly that for a moment, I actually felt proud.
"Look at that shine," I said to myself, pretending to hold a mic instead of a mop. "If cleaning had an Oscar, it's mine."
I twirled, slid the mop across the floor, and mouthed the lyrics dramatically. Who needed an audience when the couch, carpet, and coffee table were cheering me on silently?
Ms Cora had told me earlier that Mr Knight wouldn't be in till late evening. So, technically, I was safe. No lectures. No rules. No judging eyes.
I even wore my comfy tee and shorts — no apron, no chef hat, just me and my playlist.
I was halfway through a dance move that probably could've broken my ankle when I heard a thud upstairs.
I froze. Pulled one earphone out.
Another sound — a door creaked.
My heart did a tiny somersault.
