Twenty eight: Helper, comfort.

Staying in one of the balconies in my mansion, I stared at the view from there, and tried so hard to get rid of the thoughts on Trisha's behavior.  

After I had left our room, I tried to continue my work but that wasn't even close to being possible. All that rang in my head was Trisha. I was thinking about how she had always been treating me, how she acted guilty and nervous when I asked her some simple questions, how I was starting to doubt the work she was doing, and of all, how she didn't feel bad although I expressed my pain to her. All of it caused an ardent pain within me. If I could cry, I was sure I'd be wailing on the floor already. She was indeed making my life a living hell. 

When I decided to say all my pain to her, a part of me convinced me that she might feel sorry because of it, while another part assured me that nothing would change. But although I had doubts, I chose to be optimistic, only for her to prove me