The Don's Wife

52 | What Ifs

"The madam is missing meals again." Mary informed the moment I arrived home.

Well aware of whom to blame, thorns of guilt crept within me again, digging into my chest.

"Prepare it regardless. I'll bring it to her myself from now on." I gave my order.

"Yes, Sir." Mary made her bow. "Anything else you'd like to add?" Keeping her eyes down on the floor, she asked.

Perhaps it's her choice of words, the subtle curiosity peeking through her tone, and the way she stood still as if waiting for something more than an answer to her supposedly ordinary question. Or perhaps, at that time, it just so happened that I was in need of some fresh perspectives.

"How's that stain coming along? Did it come off nicely?"

Upon hearing that I carried the conversation onward instead of dismissing her, brought a small smile onto her lips.

"It's as if it's brand new, Sir." Mary boasted.

Staring into space, I nodded in approval. "As expected of Mary Jones.– Nothing gets past Mary Jones. Always keeps herself in line, as well as every corner of the house spick and span. Knows what to iron, what not to iron,– How does she manage?" I turned to the woman in question, squinted my eyes in wonderment. "I quite envy her, honestly. Does she ever make mistakes?"

"Oh, she's certainly had her share of 'em." Mary countered in a puckish manner. "As it happens, mistakes are what got her where she is now."

Mary Jones, never have I ever known anyone who's uncannily perfect at their craft until her. Not even father. I grew up witnessing her work. Her dedication, patience for precision. Even though they say it's merely household chores, I know it isn't as easy as it sounds. Far more complicated and laborious than running businesses even. Admired her for it. At some point in my boyhood, my dumb self even secretly tailed her around the house, waiting for a screw to drop, a system error, or her battery to run out. One time I sneaked into her room, expecting to find a pod instead of bed.

Plot twist ; she's human. And I remembered how disappointed I was that day. Thus, to learn that she makes mistakes rather weirded me out.

"And how did she fix those mistakes?"
I probed further.

"Well, understanding one's wrongs is the most important initial step. Then all that's left is to take responsibility by mustering every course of action possible to fix it, and just– do that." She explained it as though it was some kind of instructions you'd find on the back of a cake mix.

"You make it seem so simple." My eyebrows lifted in skepticism. "Has it ever occurred to you that, things might've taken a turn for the worse, as opposed to the better after?"

"Yes." Mary answered unhesitatingly. "Almost every time. Yet here I am,– the Mary Jones that I am today, serving you."

After last night's argument, something akin to a clog resided within my chest. It's hard to describe clearly, but no matter how much I've tried to remove the clog, it won't go away. Yet peculiarly, just now, without fully understanding why, it has budged a little. And through that narrow opening, the contained load came freely pouring out at last.

"What if it's the same story all over again?– What if somewhere along the way, she finally realized that I'm not worth staying for then leaves?"