My Husband's Mistress Hired Me as Her Maid

On Christmas Day, my husband Adrian told me he had a business trip to Phoenix. I was saving up for our daughter Sylvie's college tuition, so my former employer, Mrs. Ellington, referred me to a friend of hers in Beverly Hills. The first thing I saw when I walked into my new employer's house was an enormous wedding portrait hanging in the living room. The man in it was Adrian. I stood frozen in front of the photo until my phone buzzed. A text from my new employer. *Lydia, you there? Make sure you clean thoroughly and take the trash out when you leave.* My knuckles went white around the phone. I typed back. *Is that you and your husband in the picture on the wall?* She replied right away. *Yes, that's us. We're so happy together. We're on a family vacation for Christmas.* *Our regular housekeeper took time off. Otherwise we wouldn't have needed to hire you.* *Where's your husband? You're working, even on Christmas.* I stared at the screen and took a deep breath. *I used to have one. Not anymore.* My phone buzzed again. *Sorry to hear that.* *My husband said he'll throw in an extra tip if you do a good job.* A tip. Adrian, my husband, was going to give me a tip. I threw my phone onto the leather couch. Then I got up and walked through the six-thousand-square-foot house. Behind the first door was a child's bedroom. My feet sank into the plush carpet without a sound. A castle built out of blocks stood in the middle of the room. It was taller than Sylvie. Glass display cases lined an entire wall, filled with rows of toy cars still in their original packaging. The closet door was slightly ajar. Inside hung racks of designer kids' clothes. The desk was adjustable, and the lamp on it was a fancy anti-glare one. Sylvie's desk was an old wooden table with one uneven leg, propped up on a couple of old textbooks. She hunched over it every night to do her homework and was always complaining her neck hurt. She'd grown so fast her pants were too short. I'd taken an old pair of jeans apart and sewn strips of denim onto the hems. Adrian had said, "Kids grow out of everything. Expensive clothes are a waste. She can make do with what she has." He'd also said, "She doesn't need toys. She needs to focus on school." He wasn't broke. He just refused to spend a dime on my daughter. I closed the bedroom door and opened the door to the master bedroom. Perfume hit me. Silk bedding gleamed on a king-size bed. A photo sat on the nightstand. Adrian had his arm around that woman, grinning like he was actually happy. He'd never once smiled at me like that. I'd begged him to take a family photo with Sylvie and me. He always said he was tired, or that it was a waste of money. Expensive skincare lined the vanity, along with jewelry I'd only ever seen in ads. A jewelry box sat beside it, the lid not quite shut. I walked over and lifted it. Inside was a diamond ring. My hand started shaking. It was the ring my mother had left me. Before she died, she'd slipped it onto my finger herself and told me it was everything she had to give me. The ring had disappeared when we moved three years ago. I'd cried for days. Adrian had just sat on the couch smoking and said flatly, "You probably weren't paying attention and tossed it with the trash." "You can't even keep track of a ring. You're useless." I'd believed him. For three years, I'd blamed myself. And here it was. I took it out and slid it back onto my finger. Then I looked up at my reflection. Dull skin, hair pulled back with a plain elastic, a T-shirt washed almost colorless. Standing there like that, I looked like a joke. I opened a drawer. It was packed with watches and necklaces. I let out a bitter laugh. I was working three jobs to keep us afloat—house cleaning, handyman work, pet sitting. Adrian gave me twelve hundred a month. He said the company had cash flow problems and told me to be careful with it. I'd believed him. I wouldn't even buy myself a two-dollar jar of face cream at CVS. I yanked the drawer all the way out and dumped every watch and necklace onto the floor. Then I opened the biggest jar of face cream and smeared it across their silk sheets. I picked up the lipsticks, snapped them one by one, and smeared them across the wedding portrait. I filled a bucket with water in the bathroom, poured in bleach, and splashed it over the coats and dresses in the walk-in closet. Clothes I could never afford. Looking at the wreckage, I could finally breathe again. I braced myself against the wall. The diamond ring felt cold on my finger. Then I picked up my toolbox and walked out.