The Wrong Woman

The first rays of morning sunlight seeped through the window, painting the room with a gentle glow.

Mila was still in slumber when she heard the door creak open. Startled awake, she slowly rose, her gaze landing on an unexpected visitor.

Fenna stood at the doorway; her initial surprise quickly clouded with dismay. "Why are you sleeping in Nate's room?" she snapped.

Mila clenched her fists slowly, her irritation mounting as Fenna's intrusion disrupted the peace of the early morning. She wondered why Fenna would know the passcode to Nathan's room.

"Why shouldn't I stay in my husband's room?" Mila retorted, her tone tinged with annoyance.

With a grim expression, Fenna rushed into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and setting to work on the chair and cabinet surfaces.

Mila watched her with confusion. "What's going on?" she asked, puzzled.

voice. "You don't know how to clean, but can't you tell what I'm

rein in her frustration, Mila asked calmly, "Why are you cleaning Nate's

oozed superiority as she looked down at Mila. "Wanda, I'm Nate's assistant. For the past six months, I've attended to every aspect of his life

expression darkened further. "What?"

glance. "What else have you done other than causing him trouble? Have you ever cooked him a meal or done his laundry? Or even fetch him

to be jealous and stir up trouble in our friendship." Mila felt a pang in her stomach, gritting

her upbringing

be a housewife. Everyone had

herself and responded, "I am his wife, not his maid. Why should I do the chores meant for a

fired back, "Once you married him, these became your

stipulate that a wife must cook, do laundry, serve, and clean?" With disdain etched on her face, Fenna continued scrubbing