Are you afraid of me? She lifted her head. No, sir. He raised an eyebrow.
Everyone is. Amore gave a faint smile. I’ve seen pain, sir. I know what it looks like.
You’re not someone to be afraid of. For the first time in months, Michael chuckled.
Just a small one, but it was real. He looked at her closely. There was something honest about her, something different.
You’ll stay in the back quarters, he said. There’s a small room there. My meals must be served on time.
The house must stay clean. And don’t go around taking pictures or poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
I understand. So, if my wife gives you instructions, obey her. Amora nodded, though she noticed pain in his voice when he mentioned his wife.
He looked away. That will be all. Amara left quietly and was shown to her room behind the house.
It was small but clean. A bed, a fan, and a wardrobe. It was more than she had ever owned.
She dropped her bag and sat down, releasing a long breath. Later that evening, she went to the kitchen to cook dinner.
In the living room, she saw Ruth, Michael’s wife, scrolling through her phone. Ruth looked like a model.
Long nails, heavy makeup, designer clothes. But the look she gave Amara was full of disgust.
So you the maid? Ruth asked. Yes, ma. Clean the master bedroom twice a day, Ruth said sharply.
If I see dust, you out. Yes, ma. And don’t get comfortable, Ruth added. My husband is sick, not stupid.
I know how girls like you behave. Amara blinked. I’m just here to work. Ma Ruth didn’t reply.
She stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind her. Amara swallowed her pride and continued cooking.
She had seen women like Ruth before, proud, empty, and angry. She quietly prayed she wouldn’t have to stay long in such a house.
She carried the food to Michael’s room. “I hope it’s not too salty,” she said with a small smile.
Michael looked at the tray. The food smelled warm like home. He took a spoonful, paused, and looked at her.
This is actually good. Amora smiled brightly. Thank you. So he stuttered her again. What did you say your name was?
Amara. He nodded. You have a kind face, Amora. Her heart softened. And you have tired eyes.
So he paused, surprised. No one has ever said that to me before. Well, she replied gently, no one has ever looked closely enough.
That night, Amara returned to her small room. She knelt beside her bed and folded her hands.
“Lord,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “I don’t know why you brought me here, but please use me.
Help Mr. Michael find joy again.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away, lay on her bed, and slowly drifted to sleep.
Early the next morning, Amara was already sweeping the hallway when the front door quietly opened at exactly 6:00 a.m.
Ruth tiptoed inside. She was wearing a tight red gown, holding glittering high heels in her hand.
Her makeup was smudged, and her hair looked messy, like she had been dancing all night.
At first, she didn’t notice Amora, but when she looked up and saw her, her face twisted in irritation.
“What are you staring at?” Ruth snapped. Amora quickly bowed her head. “Good morning, Ma.”
