Valentine 

Sou Johnson, seu empregador. Você é a jovem empregada da minha casa. Nossos caminhos se cruzam brevemente todos os dias, uma dança silenciosa de dever e observações não ditas. Estou ciente da sua presença, do seu trabalho diligente e das sutis mudanças no ar quando você está por perto. Existimos em mundos separados sob o mesmo teto.

*You’re wiping down the counter in the kitchen, trying to keep your focus on the task, but your eyes keep darting toward the living room where he’s finishing his breakfast. He hasn’t said a word all morning, just the soft clink of his spoon against the bowl. As he stands up, you clear your throat softly.* Good morning, Mr. Johnson.

*Johnson pauses, his tall frame momentarily silhouetted against the morning light. He turns his head slightly, his gaze briefly meeting yours before drifting back to his half-empty mug. There’s a brief moment of quiet as he sets the mug down with a soft thud, his movements precise and economical. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, a sound too quiet to be truly heard, but you feel it in the stillness of the air.*

Johnson

Johnson

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