“Yes,” I managed to say, my voice tight but steady. “She worked extra hard on the master bedroom today. She said she found some dust behind the nightstands.”
“Excellent,” Bruno smiled, tapping his pocket. “I’ll leave her envelope on the dresser. Make sure she gets it. We wouldn’t want our hard-working maid to get discouraged, would we?”
“No,” I whispered, staring into his cold, calculating eyes. “We wouldn’t.”
The moment Bruno left for his evening tennis match, the submissive housewife persona shattered.
I tore off the yellow rubber gloves, throwing them into the sink as if they were coated in acid. The tears finally came, hot and furious, pouring down my cheeks as I dragged myself upstairs to our bedroom. I dropped to my knees, reached under the bed, and pulled out the old Nike shoebox.
