Aisha’s hands trembled as she steadied the silver tray she had been carrying moments before. A porcelain teacup lay shattered on the Persian rug. She had spilled tea—barely a splash—on the edge of Olivia’s dress.
“You’re lucky I don’t have you thrown out right now,” Olivia hissed, her voice dripping with venom. “Do you have any idea how much this dress costs?”
Aisha’s heart raced, but her voice was calm. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what the last five maids said before they left crying!” Olivia snapped. “Maybe I should speed things up for you.”
Richard finally reached the bottom step, his jaw tight. “Olivia, that’s enough.”
Olivia turned to him, exasperated. “Enough? Richard, this girl is incompetent. Just like all the others.”
Aisha said nothing. She had heard about Olivia before she came here. Every maid before her had lasted less than two weeks—some barely a day. But Aisha had promised herself she wouldn’t be driven out. Not yet. She needed this job.
Later that evening, while the other staff whispered in the kitchen, Aisha was quietly polishing the silverware. Maria, the housekeeper, leaned in and muttered, “You’re brave, girl. I’ve seen women twice your size walk out after one of her tantrums. Why are you still here?”
Aisha smiled faintly. “Because I didn’t come here just to clean.”
Maria frowned. “What do you mean?”
Aisha didn’t answer. Instead, she stacked the polished silver neatly and went to prepare the guest rooms. But her mind was elsewhere—on the reason she had accepted this job in the first place, on the truth she had come to uncover.
Leave a Comment