Day Off
After their heartwarming reunion.
Hazel went upstairs to freshion up. The moment she stepped into her room, her heart fluttered.
This was her room, her scent,her life. she sat on her bed, bouncing beneath her.
she roamed her hands around the sheets feeling the soft feel against her hands.
She sat for a moment and finally went downstairs with small cake in her hands, which she bought on her way home.
It was her favourite chocolate cake as well as her dad's.
She climbed down carefully , her footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. She walked to her father who was preparing coffee.
He took notice of her.
"Come here sweetheart," he said, ushering her inside.
"I brought cake," Hazel announced, holding up the cake box.
Her dad's eyes twinkled. "chocolate, I hope?"
Hazel grinned. "our favourite."
They settled at the small kitchen table, the chocolate cake the centerpiece of their little feast.
As they ate, they talked. Hazel told him about her work at the manor, carefully omitting the more tedious details.
She described the grand ballroom, the gleaming chandeliers, and the eccentric and aloof Mr. stern.
Her dad listened patiently, chuckling at her anecdotes.
He, in turn, told her about his latest painting project – a vibrant landscape of the local park, capturing the riot of colours in the autumn leaves.
He showed her a sketch, his hand still steady and sure despite his age.
After the cake was gone, and the tea had cooled, Hazel pulled out a framed photograph. She handed it to her dad.
He took it gently, his fingers tracing the outlines of their younger selves. A wistful smile touched his lips. "We were happy then, weren't we?"
"We still are, Dad," Hazel said softly, reaching across the table to take his hand.
His hand was rough and calloused, a testament to a life of hard work, but his grip was warm and reassuring.
They spent the rest of the afternoon lost in each other's company. They talked about old memories, shared laughter, and simply enjoyed the quiet comfort of being together.
Hazel felt a sense of peace she rarely experienced at the manor.
Here, in this small, cluttered apartment, surrounded by the love of her father, she was just Hazel, his little chickadee.
The maid, the servant, the cog in the grand machine of the stern's household – all those roles faded away, leaving only the essential: a daughter, spending a precious day with her father.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, Hazel knew it was time to leave.
She helped her dad tidy up, then gathered her things.
"Thank you for today, Dad," she said, hugging him tightly.
"Thank you, Hazel," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "You brought sunshine into my day."
Hazel smiled, her heart full.
She stepped out into the cool evening air, the image of her father's smiling face imprinted in her mind.
The ride back to the city felt shorter, the rumble of the engine a comforting lullaby.
She knew that tomorrow, she would return to the polished floors and the endless demands of the manor. But today, she had been Hazel, the daughter. And that, she knew, was a treasure worth more than all the silver and gold in the stern's household.