That night, as she cooked dinner in the kitchen, her mind refused to rest.
What if she’s right?
She could not even imagine being sent away from this house—this beautiful home, this comfort, this care.
“No, I can’t leave here,” she whispered to herself.
Her expression slowly changed as her thoughts deepened.
I must make my stay here permanent.
The next morning, there was loud, aggressive banging on the door. Benita rushed to open it.
Mama Williams pushed her way in immediately, walking in aggressively like someone prepared for war. Her wrapper was tightly tied, her face hard and unforgiving, and her eyes swept over Benita with sharp suspicion.
“And who are you?” she asked harshly.
“I am the maid, ma,” Benita replied softly.
“A maid?” Mama Williams repeated in disbelief.
“Yes, ma.”
Without another word, Mama Williams stormed into the sitting room.
“Evelyn!” she shouted.
Evelyn hurried out.
“What do you need a maid for?” Mama Williams yelled, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t have children yet, and you have a maid for what exactly? So now you are too lazy to cook and take care of my son’s house?”
She scoffed loudly.
“You are lazy in everything—even to conceive. God forbid a woman like you.”
Evelyn stood there quietly, her head slightly lowered. She said nothing. Mama Williams had said worse things before. She had learned to keep quiet and cry later in the privacy of her room.
Just then, Mr. Williams walked in.
“What is going on here?” he asked. “Mama, you just arrived. Why are you shouting?”
“Why won’t I shout when you and your barren wife have decided to remain fruitless? Williams, go and look for a real woman who will give you a child.”
She kept yelling without stopping.
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