By the third day, the staff watched Naomi with curiosity. She hadn’t cried, hadn’t raised her voice, hadn’t left. She worked silently, steady as a river.
Rose tried harder. Naomi’s maid uniform went missing, leaving only a lace nightgown that wasn’t hers. She came out in a wrapper and faded t-shirt. Rose mocked her in front of everyone:
“Did you sleep in the gutter, or are you just dressing to match the mop?”
Naomi lowered her head and returned to work.
Next came “accidents.” Rose spilled red wine on a white rug and stood back. Naomi knelt, scrubbing silently. Another day, Rose smashed a crystal bowl and blamed Naomi. She whispered only, “I’ll clean it, Ma.”
