People assumed Janet was brave because she never looked frightened.
When storms came, she checked the windows.
She already had towels warming on the radiator and soup simmering before anyone realised someone was ill.
Birthdays were always remembered with presents purchased and cards signed.
When someone elseβs washing blew into her garden, she folded it before returning it.
People mistook preparedness for fearlessness. They were different things entirely.
Brad mistook it too.
He first met Janet because she laughed at one of his terrible jokes.
Not politely or flirtatiously.
She laughed because she genuinely thought it was funny, and that startled him more than if she had kissed him.
She seemed⦠uncomplicated. She was not.
Janetβs mind was less like a straight road than an old forest where every tree knew another tree by name. She could begin talking about broken teacups and somehow arrive at astronomy, grief, migratory birds and why people alphabetised spices.
It all made sense – if you followed.
Brad rarely did.
He loved that she could solve problems he had not even noticed yet. He did not realise that every solution she quietly provided became another thing he no longer needed to learn.
When the washing machine broke, Janet figured it out or when the budget collapsed, Janet stretched it.
When the children had nightmares, Janet already knew which blanket belonged to which child without switching on a light.
She became invisible by being indispensable.
