As if I were a maid
Although she claimed I could stay as long as I needed, her actions told a different story. Instead of offering support as I grieved my husband’s loss, she treated me more like a maid than family. At first, it was small things—asking me to wash her dirty clothes when she “forgot” or didn’t have time—but those polite requests quickly escalated into outright demands. Left with no other options, I felt forced to comply.
As If I Were A Maid
The first instance I declined
The first time she demanded I scrub the floors, I stood my ground and refused. “Alright, pack your things and leave then,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance. My stomach sank—I had nowhere else to go. My parents lived halfway across the world, and I couldn’t afford a plane ticket. Even if I could, I couldn’t bear the thought of being so far from my husband’s grave.
The First Instance I Declined
