The cold morning breeze slapped Brian's cheeks as he bent over, scrubbing tire marks off the driveway. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat. Cecilia stood on the porch, arms folded, watching like a hawk.
"Faster," she barked. "You're too slow. The guests will arrive soon. I don't want them to see dirt."
Brian's fingers stung from the rough bristles of the old brush. He had used it so much that the handle had cracks now. He bit his lip and kept scrubbing.
"I said faster!" Cecilia threw an empty juice can at his back. It bounced off with a dull thud. Lisa stood beside her, sipping her smoothie and giggling.
"Mom, why do you still let him stay here?" Lisa rolled her eyes. "He's just a cleaner now."
Cecilia chuckled. "Because he's useful—for things like this. Trash belongs outside, cleaning trash."
Brian swallowed hard, not saying a word. The taste of shame coated his tongue. He had dreams once. Now, he was just trying to survive.
---
Later that afternoon, Brian stood in the living room in a white shirt and black pants, holding a tray of drinks.
Cecilia was hosting her business partners—rich women in long gowns with expensive perfumes. Laughter echoed in the air as they sipped wine and talked about their rich sons.
Brian moved from person to person, offering drinks like a hotel waiter. One of the guests looked him over.
"Is he the househelp?" she asked loudly.
"No," Cecilia smirked, "He's my son-in-law. Technically."
The women burst into laughter. Lisa was sitting with her friends too, leaning against Jason. They were all wearing branded designer outfits.
Brian's eyes met Jason's for a second. The man smiled—slow and smug. Then Jason leaned close to Lisa's ear and whispered something. Lisa laughed and looked directly at Brian.
"My boyfriend just said your pants are from five years ago," Lisa said loud enough for everyone. "Is that true?"
Brian's ears turned red. He stayed silent.
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" her friend mocked.
"Don't be mean, ladies," Jason said with a fake gentle voice. "Brian is just... from a different world."
Another round of laughter followed. Brian clenched his jaw. He turned away and kept walking, serving drinks like he couldn't hear them.
But he heard everything.
---
An hour later, Cecilia called him to the study. He walked in, heart heavy.
She handed him a stack of papers.
"Sign this."
Brian looked down. A contract.
"What is this?"
"It's a declaration," she said. "That you will never ask for a cent from our family. That if Lisa divorces you, you leave with nothing."
Brian stared at her.
"But... I never—"
"Don't waste my time," Cecilia snapped. "Sign it or leave my house tonight."
Brian felt like something sharp was stabbing his chest. "Even after all I did...?"
"You think we owe you something? We let you eat here. Sleep here. Breathe here. Sign it!"
His hand shook as he picked up the pen. He signed. She snatched the paper the moment he finished and threw it into a drawer.
"Now go clean the guest bathroom. There's a mess."
---
That evening, Brian stood in the bathroom with a bucket and sponge. He heard voices coming from the hallway.
Lisa and Jason.
"You saw his face when you said his pants were old?" Jason laughed.
Lisa giggled. "Pathetic, right?"
"He still thinks he's your husband."
"He's not even a man. A man takes care of his woman. He can't even take care of himself."
Brian closed his eyes. The sponge dropped into the bucket. The sound made Lisa stop talking.
"Did you hear that?" she asked.
Jason opened the door suddenly and saw Brian standing there.
"Oh, it's the cleaning crew," he said with a smirk.
Lisa looked at Brian, then looked away.
"You missed a spot," she said and walked off, heels clicking.
Brian stood still. Cold water dripped from his hands onto the floor.
---
That night, Brian sat alone on the back steps. The sky above was cloudy, no stars. His shirt was stained. His hands smelled like bleach. He pulled out his wallet—a picture of his late mother tucked inside.
"I'm trying, Mom," he whispered. "But it's hard."
He didn't hear the footsteps until someone tossed a small white envelope beside him.
He looked up.
No one was there.
He picked it up.
Inside was a simple card. Handwritten.
> "I see you. Don't give up."
No name. No return address.
Brian looked around.
Nothing.
But for the first time in days, a tiny fire sparked inside his chest.
Someone had noticed.