I was thinking about going to the inauguration, but I have a hair appointment.

“That’s a nasty gash you’ve got there,” I said to Amanda, as she was bending over.

“Yes,” she said, turning from the flower bed she was weeding. “I caught my finger on that rose bush.”

“Perhaps you should come into the kitchen, I can put some ointment on it,” I replied. As you know, I am really quite compassionate, even with my wife’s dreadful friend, Amanda.

Amanda hesitated for a moment, her brows furrowing in consideration, but then she nodded and followed me into the house. The kitchen, with its warm, golden light filtering through the curtains, offered a comforting sanctuary from the sharp thorns and relentless sun outside.

I rummaged through the medicine cabinet and found the ointment, along with a clean bandage. Amanda sat down at the table, cradling her injured finger gingerly. I couldn’t help but notice the way her face softened in the light, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen behind her usual abrasive demeanor.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

“It’s no trouble,” I replied, carefully applying the ointment and wrapping the bandage around her finger. “You’ll need to be more careful around those rose bushes. They’re beautiful, but they can be…