the sky that should have been burned
By seven thirty, Owen was alone. He sat up in bed, hands folded in his lap and let out a sigh, though by now he accepted that he would start off every morning by himself. His fiance, Anya was already at work, and by the time she was home for the night, she’d be exhausted and disinterested in much else but a hot shower and a made bed. Never did Owen think that when Anya finally decided on a career, she’d throw herself into it so forcefully that he barely got to see her eyes when they were open. Once the Army proved to be a wrong turn, she fell into a job teaching tot gymnastics, and while he initially thought it was an occupying but part-time stint, it turned into Anya’s second home. Lately it felt more to Owen like it had become her first. Owen’s own career was budding, and by no means were they hurting for funds, but Anya was too proud to let Owen pay for her to live. She reminded him as often as she could that it was all good money to be put towards their upcoming wedding and life thereafter, and Owen knew it would make her happy, so he kept mum.
In the meantime, aside from the crippling loneliness that Owen kept buried under a thick surface, it was hard to keep up on the house itself. He never intended to be a househusband, nor did he desire to, but with Anya out and about all day at work, she expected the chores and errands to be left to Owen who hadn’t seen much of a mop in his twenty some odd years. It didn’t take a ton of sordid cleaning attempts for Anya to realize that it would be fruitless to entrust their home’s livelihood to the messy brunette, so she agreed to hiring a housekeeper, one of the few expenses she relented to Owen. Today would be the first day for the keeper in question, the only thing keeping Owen awake so early on his one day off. Preparing for the day, Owen made his way down the staircase into the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee as he awaited the help.
