Then, suddenly, an idea came to her. The next morning, she carefully wrapped the packet in a tissue.
She placed it inside a small envelope and hid it deep inside her handbag. Then she went about her chores as usual, sweeping, cleaning, acting normal, pretending nothing was wrong.
When she brought Michael his breakfast, she placed the tray down and stood quietly by the door.
Michael looked up at her. “Is everything all right, Amara?” She opened her mouth, then quickly closed it.
He raised an eyebrow. You’re not your usual self today. She forced a small smile.
I’m okay. So he stuttered her face for a moment, then spoke gently. You can talk to me, Amora.
I told you you’re not just a maid in this house. Her lips trembled. So can we go to the garden later?
He nodded. Of course. After breakfast, she wheeled him outside. The morning sun was soft and the air felt calm and peaceful.
She parked the wheelchair near a bench and sat beside him, staring straight ahead. There’s something I need to tell you,” she said quietly.
Michael turned to her. Go on. “But I’m scared,” she added. He reached for her hand and held it firmly.
“Nothing will happen to you. I promise. I’m here.” Amora took a deep breath. Yesterday, your wife called me into the living room,” she began.
She asked if I wanted to travel abroad to study. “She said she could help me go to school.”
Michael listened closely, his face unreadable. Then she gave me something, Amara continued. A small packet.
She said I should put it in your food. Michael’s face darkened. What? She said it would help you feel better.
When I asked why she couldn’t give it to you herself, she insulted me, called me dumb.
Then she threatened me. She said, “If I didn’t do it, or if I told you, I would disobey.”
Michael’s hands slowly curled into fists on his lap. Amara quickly pulled the envelope from her bag and handed it to him.
