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.

hint of sarcasm in her voice. "You don't know how

a deep breath to rein in her frustration,

oozed superiority as she looked down at Mila. "Wanda, I'm Nate's assistant. For the

darkened further. "What?"

than causing him trouble? Have you ever cooked him

is to be jealous and stir up trouble in our friendship." Mila felt

childhood, her upbringing

her that she wasn't destined to be a housewife. Everyone had their strengths and contributions to offer to the family and

responded, "I am his wife, not his maid. Why should I do the chores

married him, these became

must cook, do laundry, serve, and clean?" With disdain etched on her face, Fenna continued scrubbing the table. "I don't understand why Nate