I Started Working as a Maid for a Wealthy Family, but Then I Found a Childhood Photo of Me and My Mom in Their House — Story of the Day

The interview was with an older woman named Margaret. She sat behind a heavy wooden desk, her silver hair pinned neatly, her voice calm but firm.

“So, Clara, you’ve worked as a maid before?” she asked.

“Only part-time,” I admitted.

“Mostly cleaning offices and apartments while studying.”

“This job requires discipline. I live here with my son, his wife, and my grandson. We value order and discretion.

Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said quickly.

“Good.” She rose from her chair with an elegance that made me instinctively straighten my back.

“You’ll report to Linda, our housekeeper. She’ll show you around and help you settle in.”

Linda turned out to be warm and kind, a bit nervous but helpful.

She gave me a tour through endless hallways and polished floors before showing me my room.

“It’s a small one,” she said with a smile. I nearly laughed; it was twice the size of my old apartment, with a bed so soft I was afraid to sit on it.

The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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