Tuesday. Not even one of her scheduled days.
But her brother canceled last minute, offering some pitiful excuse. She stopped listening the moment he started begging.
Let the spinster handle it like always.
The harsh whistle of the antique kettle turns Susan’s head. She drops the teabag into the mug followed by the boiling water and a splash of cold milk.
Just the way Dad likes it.
She doesn’t mind taking care of him. There was always something special between the two, a bond the others didn’t understand.
Besides, someone needs to do it.
And if not her, then who?
The Weekday One Hundred 