The crazy maid stayed in the room with me that night. She put a chair at the entrance of the room and leaned on the door, arms folded across her chest.
The impact of the needle stitch became so immense that I had to remain on the bed and hang the hand aside, limply. Many thoughts swarmed across my mind, weakening me the more.
When she first made the statement, she'd placed her hand akimbo, spread her legs apart, and scrunched her face menacingly. She had clearly been hoping that I would argue with her, or refuse to accept what she had said, so that she could throw another tantrum, so that she could call me names again.
I merely acted as though I hadn't heard her words, closing my eyes and clenching my teeth as the stitching needle pierced deeper into my skin. I felt the heat of the ma
