It was just after seven when I found myself alone in the dining room, the clock ticking softly in the background. My husband and his sister had left for what they called a ‘business dinner,’ leaving me with the new maid, Rosa, who was supposedly non-English speaking. I was organizing receipts from last month’s expenses when I heard the broom clatter behind me. Rosa stood there, no longer the quiet figure I’d assumed.
« Ma’am, do not eat the soup they left in the fridge, » she said, her voice calm yet urgent.
My fingers paused over a receipt dated March 15, as I processed her unexpected warning. The quiet room suddenly felt different, charged with an unease I couldn’t quite place. Rosa’s eyes met mine, steady and unflinching, and I knew I couldn’t leave her words unexamined.
I needed to know more, but first, I had to decide whom to trust in this unexpected narrative. Should I confront my husband or dig deeper on my own?
The kitchen held its secrets, and I was about to uncover them, one step at a time.
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