Chapter 3
Maya had learned to move carefully in Ethan’s house.
Not because the furniture was delicate.
Because Ethan’s moods were.
If she closed a cabinet too loudly, Beatrice sighed.
If she served dinner late, Ethan said she embarrassed him.
If she asked to sit down before the guests finished eating, Beatrice reminded her that “a good wife keeps the room comfortable.”
Comfortable for everyone except Maya.
Ethan’s family visited often.
Too often.
They treated the Greenwich home like a private club and Maya like staff who happened to sleep upstairs.
Beatrice corrected the flowers.
Moved the silverware.
Criticized the menu.
Told Maya which dress looked “less desperate.”
Ethan never stopped her.
Sometimes he smiled.
That smile hurt more than shouting.
On the evening Victoria arrived, Maya had been washing dishes for nearly an hour while the family ate roast dinner without her.
The window had been opened after Ethan complained the kitchen smelled “too domestic.”
Maya’s hair was wet because Beatrice had spilled water near the counter and told her to clean it quickly before guests noticed.
Her wrist had bruised when Ethan grabbed her earlier and said, “Stop making faces in front of my mother.”
By the time Victoria walked in, Maya was too cold to think clearly.
She saw her mother’s burgundy suit first.
Then her face.
Controlled.
Furious.
Maya wanted to run to her.
But fear held her still.
Ethan noticed Victoria and immediately tried to reclaim the room.
That was why he shoved the plate toward Maya.
He needed his audience to see who commanded the house.
Instead, the plate broke.
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And so did the illusion.
Read the full story 👉 Maya had been treated like a servant in the home meant to protect her, until Victoria walked in and saw enough.
