With My Boss

The mansion was eerily quiet on my second evening of work. The silence was punctuated only by the soft rhythm of my cleaning. I glanced at the clock—11:15 PM. I was still unfamiliar with Mr. Nelson’s routine, so his absence was unsettling. I hoped nothing was wrong.

Just then, the rumble of Mr. Nelson’s car echoed from the driveway. I set down the cloth and went to greet him. My heart pounded with a mix of anticipation and anxiety, unsure of what to expect from my employer, especially after his behavior the previous day.

He stumbled through the front door, the scent of alcohol wafting into the room before he did. His usually sharp attire was in disarray, and his face was flushed. Mr. Nelson’s gait was unsteady, his movements erratic.

“Evening, Mr. Nelson,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He barely acknowledged me, mumbling a garbled response. “Evening,” he said, his voice thick with drunkenness.

He staggered into the living room, bumping into furniture. As he made his