The water began to turn warm, bringing my thoughts to the present.

“Finally,” I said to no one.

The button of my jeans easily popped open, the slit worn and a bit stretched out. I unzipped my pants and then realized, with the millions of thoughts swirling around in my head, I’d forgotten an important part of my nightly routine. I swore aloud while rushing to my bedroom closet. Bending down, I uncovered a size-nine shoebox. I carried the cardboard to the kitchen and set it next to my apron on the counter.

A thin stack of twenties and fewer small bills peeked out from the apron that was folded neatly on the speckled gray-and-rose Formica. I removed the lid from the box that held over five years of letters, pictures, and cash instead of Adidas. I carefully placed half of my tips inside, and then I hid it back in the dark corner of my closet.

I returned to the kitchen to tuck the rest of the money inside a plain black wallet that I’d purchased from the local discount store shortly after I’d sold the Louis Vuitton online. One hundred and eleven dollars in cash fit right in with the rest of the stack. I would have rent by the end of my shift the following day. With that thought, I smiled and tossed the wallet onto the counter on my way to the bathroom.

My T-shirt was stuck to my skin from sweating throughout the day. I peeled it off and easily kicked off my ratty white Converse high-tops, and then I maneuvered my way out of my skinny jeans, pulling them down over my ankles and tossing them to the corner.

The large pile of dirty clothes made me happy, knowing that would never have existed in my former life. With a houseful of staff—Vanda, the housekeeper, and the three maids, Cicely, Maria, and Ann—overlooked laundry at the end of the day would have meant somebody’s termination. My bed had been made the moment I climbed out of it, and my clothes had been laundered, pressed, and hung up by the next day.

I let my panties fall to the floor, and I pulled off my damp socks with my toes. I stepped under the steaming uneven spray. Once in a while, the water would become ice cold and then turn scalding before returning to normal, but I didn’t care.

The trash was full, the laundry was a week behind, and dirty dishes were in the sink. And I would go to bed without giving any of it a second thought. No one was there to yell at me, to obsess over order, or to chastise my untucked shirts or untamed hair. I didn’t have to be perfect here. I didn’t have to be perfect anywhere anymore. I only had to exist and breathe for no one but myself.