You never told me goodbye as you slipped out the stables we shared with the horses and cattle just before dawn, and the dew on the grass dampened the hem of your skirt. You only left instructions— The Missus doesn't like her food to touch. Mister has a Sunday night ritual he expects you to follow—You were tight-lipped on what that was, only that I should wear loose clothing that was easy to remove. The clarity came when he snatched my wrist as I served him tea. Now, as I coil in my bed of hay under the stench of manure, I think how much I hate you, even though I know—It was never your choice to leave.