Eliana was on her knees, scrubbing the hell out of her toilet.
She didn't know what exactly had driven her to deep clean the bathroom at one in the morning, but here she was—sweating, furious, and locked in an emotional deathmatch with a rust-colored stain near the base of the toilet bowl.
The stain wasn't moving.
And that made her want to scream.
She scrubbed harder. Her arm ached. Her back was sore. Her eyes stung with exhaustion, but she kept going.
She barely stopped herself from taking a hammer or a knife just to take out that annoying stain.
She stood up abruptly, still holding the scrub brush, and marched toward the light switch.
That's when she saw the time: 2:04 a.m.
She groaned. "What am I even doing?" she muttered, flicking off the light.
The bathroom was dark now, but that stain was still in her head.
She stormed back in, turned the light on again, dropped to her knees with a huff, and went at it one more time.
She didn't hear the phone buzz the first time.
