Obsession Chapter 1 Part 3
CHAPTER 1 · PART THREE
obsession
Part of me thought about giving in to temptation—maybe I could flirt with Mr. Richardson, perhaps even date him. Sure, it would rile up his wife, but more than that, it would change my family’s life forever.
But no. Being a married man was a no-go zone for me. No matter how much I craved life’s luxury, I wasn’t willing to play with someone’s marriage. It was too precious, too sacred.
“Come on, go and find something to do. Why are you just standing there?” Beatrice’s voice was shrill.
“I’ll get to work, ma’am,” I said, forcing a smile.
I slipped into the spare maid’s uniform—plain black dress, white apron—and we worked side by side, cleaning after people who didn’t acknowledge our existence.
As I wiped down counters, the feeling returned. This wasn’t where I belonged. I wasn’t meant to scrub floors and serve women like Mrs. Beatrice. But for now, it was all I had.
“Let’s go and pick up your sister from school,” Mama said.
Finally, we were done. I pulled off the maid’s uniform like it burned my skin and tossed it into the washing machine with more force than necessary.
“I’ll go tell Madam that we’re leaving.”
“Okay, I’m waiting here.”
“Go where?” Beatrice screeched. “There are still dirty plates and cups! Call Sara to wash them!”
“Sara!” she yelled. “After that, go clean my room.”
I clenched my jaw. I wanted to scream. But I couldn’t risk Mama losing her job.
I plastered on a fake smile and walked in.
“And don’t use the dishwasher,” she added.
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.
I washed the dishes by hand. Then I cleaned her room. Then the French windows. By the time I finished, the sun had dipped low in the sky.
Mama had already gone to pick up Debby, so I walked home alone.
That’s when I saw it—a bright red sports car parked in front of our yard.
Before I could think, the door opened. A hulking black man stepped out first, dressed like he belonged in a CIA movie.
Then a woman stepped out—white, elegant, commanding.
Her eyes met mine, deep brown and trembling. Despite the gray in her hair, the resemblance was unmistakable. Her nose. Her face.
It was like looking into my future.
“Good day. How can I help you?” I asked.
“Are you Sarah Godfrey?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Her hand flew to her mouth as tears spilled freely.
“I just wanted to tell you…” she said, voice shaking. “I’m your grandma.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
My father’s side. The unknown part of my life.
I stared at her, knowing—deep down—that everything was about to change.