It was quiet in the house. The half-closed windows shielded the house from the noises of the kids playing outside, who were yelling desperately at each other. Though their words were too far for Ann to recognize, she gradually came to understand after the two hours and fifty minutes that she had been sitting on the wooden chair in the living room that these kids were trying to show their authority. They yelled in a way that resembled the soldiers in commercial films who would make a war cry in the middle of the battle to boost their morale, and more importantly, show their power and scare their enemies. But it didn’t matter to Ann what the other kids were doing.

The floor was perfectly clean. There was no dust visible in the crevices in between tiles. Even the chair Ann was sitting on was covered in the finest gloss. Ann is good at her job, you can tell. The afternoon sun had made the chair a boiling pot that burns her skin, perhaps that was why she ended up switching between pacing back and forth in the room and sitting.

 The hour hand clicked, pointing at six. She had been staring at that clock for a full three hours, and now her anxiety had reached a point that started to create random, scary thoughts for her. But she knew these are not random thoughts. Her girl was still not back. She wasn't thinking about potential car accidents or kidnapping, because there were things worse than that. The fact that the girl was with that man gave her enough anxiety. 

There were two this morning. It was hard not to see them, as they were on the girl’s cheeks which were so fine and ruddy when she first met her a year ago. The last time she saw such new bruises on her was two weeks ago when she was helping the girl in the shower. She still remembered that there was one on the back of her neck, one close to one of her elbows, and one on her right outer thigh. As she thought about the moments behind these wounds, anger soaked into her blood, giving her intense stomach cramps. The pain pushed her up from the chair. She snatched the keys from her table, rushed towards the door, and slid her feet in a pair of old worn sneakers. When her hand finally touches the door handle, she stops.

What could she possibly do? Who is she by the way, to tell him to stop? 

She needs to live. She needs this job. Who would still want to hire her if they know she is some nosy middle-aged woman who can’t even do her job right and got fired three times in a row now? She can’t let her family pay for her heroism.

Her thoughts were cut off by a sudden movement of the door handle. She jumped away from the door, turning her head away and seized the dry rag on the dining table, pretending that she had been working hard wiping down the table. 

The door opened and shut behind her. Ann could feel her left chest going up and down frantically. But more than feeling guilty, she was worried about the girl. She had to fight the desire to check the girl’s body fully, as the last thing she wanted to do was to remind the girl of what she had been through. When she finally turned around, she forced a smile on her face. But it struck her that the girl was holding a half-melt vanilla cone in her hand.

“Hey, what do you wanna have for dinner?”

“Noodles!” The girl responded, the edges of her lips curve up into a sweet little moon. She fixes her hair with her empty hand, leaving a strand of hair at her collarbone.

As she went near her, in the soft yellow lights, she could see traces of tears on her face. In the gentlest breeze that follows, a red mark was made visible under the girl’s shoulder. Ann was right.

“Ann, come. I want to tell you something.”