Days passed, and Ndidi fell into the routine of the house. It wasn't as though she had much choice. The tasks were simple, yet endless. She scrubbed floors until her hands ached, washed dishes until her fingers were raw, and prepared meals for the family. At first, the work felt like something she could manage just chores, just what she had always done. But as the days turned into weeks, she
began to feel the weight of it all.
The house seemed to grow quieter with each passing day. Mrs. Okoro had her own life, and her attention to Ndidi was limited to a quick command here or there. The children-two girls and a boy rarely looked her way. They were too busy with their own activities to pay her any attention. They were the privileged ones, after all, the ones who could run and laugh and play without a care in the world.
Ndidi had no such luxury. Her life was one of endless work, one of silence and solitude. She had grown used to the quiet, but it was a heavy kind of quiet. The kind that made her feel invisible. She wasn't sure if Mrs. Okoro even remembered she was there, or if she was simply a shadow in the background, a tool to be used when needed and forgotten when not.
One evening, Ndidi found herself in the kitchen, stirring the soup over the stove.
She had been in the house for weeks now, and nothing had changed. The work remained the same constant, never ending. But there was something about the silence in the house that weighed on her, something about the way the walls seemed to close in around her.
It was then that she heard footsteps behind her, slow and deliberate. She didn't have to look up to know who it was. His presence filled the space, and her body tensed instinctively.
Mr. Okoro stood in the doorway, watching her. She could feel his gaze on the back of her neck, cold and unyielding. She had become used to his presence over the past weeks, though she did everything she could to avoid him. There was something about him that made her uncomfortable something that made her feel small and insignificant.
"You're doing a good job," he said, his voice smooth and too calm.
Ndidi didn't respond. She kept her focus on the soup, her hands shaking slightly as she stirred. She could feel the air grow thick with tension, his gaze pressing down on her like an invisible weight."I expect nothing less," he added, stepping closer, his voice lowering.
She froze, the spoon in her hand trembling as it scraped against the bottom of the pot. His footsteps grew louder, and she could feel him standing too close.
He was behind her now, and she could hear his breath, slow and steady, filling the space between them.
"I... I'm sorry," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't say anything more. He just stood there, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish. All that was left was the oppressive weight of his presence, the heaviness in the air.
When he finally left, Ndidi's body remained frozen in place. She couldn't move, couldn't think. It wasn't fear, not exactly. It was something deeper, something she didn't have words for. She felt like she had been marked,like something inside her had been claimed.