Clara flinched sharply when she heard the familiar voice echo through the hall.
She quickly tried to wipe her tearful cheeks with her wet sleeve.
Clara: Mark? You were not supposed to be home until next week!
Mark dropped to his knees on the cold marble floor beside her.
He pulled the heavy sponge away from her red, dripping fingers.
Her hands were raw and shaking from hours of relentless hard labor.
Mark: Why are you scrubbing floors on your knees like a servant?
Clara: I... I had to make sure everything was clean before your mother returned.
Mark reached out to gently lift Clara's chin toward the bright light.
Her skin looked pale, and deep dark circles hung beneath her swollen eyes.
She looked exhausted, stressed, and completely broken down in spirit.
Mark: Where are the professional cleaners I pay every single week?
Clara bit her lip nervously and looked down at the floor tile.
Clara: Your mother canceled the cleaning service the day after you left.
Mark felt a cold wave of anger spread rapidly through his chest.
Mark: She canceled them? Why would she ever do that?
Clara: She said I needed to earn my keep if I lived here.
Mark squeezed Clara's hands tightly as his blood began to boil.
Mark: You are my wife! You do not need to earn anything here!
Clara looked toward the glass staircase with visible fear in her eyes.
Clara: Please keep your voice down, Mark. She will hear you.
Mark: Let her hear me! I want an explanation right now!
Clara placed her trembling hand over her lower belly with a quiet sigh.
Clara: I did not want to worry you while you were away working.
Mark noticed the subtle movement of her hand against her waist.
His eyes widened as he realized the deeper meaning behind her subtle gesture.
Mark: Clara... are you feeling sick from the fumes?
Clara: No, Mark... it is not just the cleaning chemicals making me tired.
She looked into his eyes with a soft, vulnerable expression.
Clara: I am three months pregnant with our baby.