I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. I thought he was being flexible.
Until Friday.
I had gone out for groceries. When I returned, I heard Bruno on a video call with his mother in the living room. I froze behind the half-open door, bags still in my hands.
“Yes, Mom,” he was saying, laughing. “I already gave her the money for the girl. Let’s see if she finally learns what it costs to keep a house clean.”
His mother’s sharp laugh echoed through the speaker.
“Oh, son, that woman has never known how to manage anything. I’m sure she’ll just spend the money and then pretend she did the cleaning herself. Typical.”
Bruno chuckled. “Well, if she cleans it herself, even better. That way I save on hiring a stranger. Two birds, one stone.”
The bags slipped from my fingers. One of them hit the floor with a soft thud. Neither of them noticed.
It wasn’t help. It was a trap. A cruel test designed by him and his mother to prove I was as useless as they always whispered I was.
That night, I lay awake beside him, listening to his snoring, my chest tight with humiliation and rage. I thought about all the nights I had massaged his shoulders after long days, all the times I had bitten my tongue when he criticized my cooking or the way I dressed, all the years I had given up my own dreams to support his career.
The next Monday, I made a decision.
I woke up at 4:45 a.m. I tied my hair back tightly, put on my oldest clothes, and slipped on yellow rubber gloves. I cleaned the house like a woman possessed. I scrubbed every tile until it shone. I washed the windows inside and out. I disinfected every bathroom until the smell of bleach burned my nostrils. I organized the pantry, folded every piece of clothing with military precision, and polished the wooden floors until I could see my exhausted reflection in them.
