Eunice, once the queen of her home, found herself dethroned and discarded, left to watch as her husband and her maid became closer, her heart shattering with every passing day.
The once timid maid started to hold her head higher, her smiles more confident, almost defiant. When Eunice asked her to run errands, there were delays and excuses. The dishes piled up in the sink, untouched. The floors remained unswept. Serwaa’s work became selective, only fulfilling requests made by Agyekum, while Eunice’s pleas fell on deaf ears.
Eunice tried to confront her, but Serwaa’s response was cold, her eyes meeting Eunice’s without the usual deference. It was as if a line had been crossed, one that Eunice had not been aware of until it was too late. The truth finally unveiled itself in a painful, ugly way. Agyekum, her husband, the man she had built her life around, had begun an affair with Serwaa. And it wasn’t just any âffair; it had emboldened Serwaa to the point of open defiance.
Agyekum no longer hid his contempt. In moments of intimacy with Serwaa, he would compare Eunice to Serwaa, his words sharp, designed to cut deep. “my wife’s vagina is too loose,” he spat one night, his voice dripping with venom. “She’s not sweet in bed. Not like you.” These words made Serwaa feel like a queen. Her posture is impeccable as if she commands the very ground beneath her feet.
In the neighborhood, Serwaa became a force unto herself. She gathered a clique of local women, whispering tales of Eunice’s supposed inadequacies, and her failures as a wife. The rumors spread like wildfire, and soon, Eunice became the subject of ridicule, her name a punchline in conversations that she was never a part of. The market women gossiped, the children giggled as she walked by, and the men shook their heads in pity. The walls of her home no longer felt like protection but a cage where her humiliation was amplified by every echo.
Eunice, once a woman of quiet dignity, found herself crumbling under the weight of shame and betrayal. She could no longer tolerate the poison that had seeped into her home. One evening, with trembling hands and a heart hardened by sorrow, she ordered Serwaa to leave. The words left her lips like stones, each one heavy with the finality of the decision. Serwaa scoffed but left, her departure almost as casual as her arrival.
But if Eunice thought that would be the end, she was mistaken. Agyekum’s fury was swift and terrifying. He lashed out at her, his love replaced by something monstrous. “You’ve made a big mistake, Eunice,” he snarled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You think you can just sack Serwaa? You’ll pay for this. Don’t even think about bringing another house help here. From now on, you’ll do everything yourself. I’ll make sure your life is miserable.”
It’s clear Eunice has become a prisoner in her own home: forced to bear the weight of her chores, her job as a banker, and her husband’s simmering resentment.
— The End of The Maid’s Desire (Part 4) —
By Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko
About the Author
The name of the author of this story is Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko. She offers a wide range of writing services, including:
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