The Confrontation
“What are you doing on the floor with her?” he demanded, his tone dangerously low.
The maid stood quickly, shielding the girl behind her. “She’s hurt. She’s crying. What did you make her do?”
He laughed coldly. “She’s being dramatic. All kids are. A little weight won’t kill her — it builds character.”
The maid’s anger boiled. “Her back could be seriously injured,” she said, voice shaking. “What were you thinking?”
“You forget your place,” he snapped. “You clean floors. You don’t question me.”
The maid clenched her fists. “You told her it wouldn’t hurt, but she can barely stand. That’s not strength — that’s cruelty.”
Mr. Hargrove smirked. “Cruelty? That’s life. And she’s not even my problem — my wife brought her here against my will.”
