"Who are you?"
"I am the housemaid."
He was my runaway husband, but since my head and face were covered because of the injuries, he could not recognize me. I almost blew my cover when I nearly shouted his name out of shock. It came as a reflex, the kind that jumps out before your brain can stop it. I swallowed the rest of the word quickly.
Still, he became curious.
"How did you know my name?"
"The madam of the house told me and showed me your picture on the wall."
"I decided to surprise her. She must be expecting me tomorrow evening because I told her I would be home tomorrow. Where is she?"
"In her room."
That was the mindset of a man who never truly trusted his woman; always trying to appear unexpectedly. Surprising her on a day she did not expect him. Maybe in his head he imagined she could be with someone else not knowing she would have prepared a delicious meal and dressed so well just to welcome her long-gone man.
But what he never knew was that I was actually the woman he had once planned to get rid of while speaking with her on the phone.
As time went on, I did not want my name Sharila to be mentioned again in that house. I only wanted everyone to continue calling me Shari, so that my husband would not even suspect my presence under his own roof.
The accident I once thought was unfortunate had now become my perfect disguise.
That day, he walked upstairs and surprised his wife in the room. Not long after, I heard her scream with excitement.
"Oh my God, Tara, my darling sweetheart!"
She hugged him tightly. They stayed inside the room for almost an hour before coming out again. I understood they had both missed each other very much. When two people who claim to love each other meet after a long time, patience usually runs away from the door.
Standing there quietly in the corridor, I realized something. The love I once had for that man had melted under the hot sun of suffering. All the tears, all the pain, all the betrayal had dried it up little by little.
And the only thing left inside my heart now was the strong desire to get back everything that once belonged to me.
Strangely, after that day I never saw Lailam again. He stopped calling and he stopped visiting the house completely.
The next morning, very early, my runaway husband walked downstairs and met me cleaning the sitting room floor.
He stared at me for a moment.
"Why is your face covered with bandages and your skull with a cast?"
"I had an accident, sir."
Imagine that, me calling my own husband sir. Yet he could not even recognize my voice. The doctor had warned me not to talk too much because of my jaw injury. My voice sounded heavy and muffled, like someone speaking through a thick cloth.
"Did you fall from a bike?" he asked.
"No, sir. I fell from the stairs."
"Were you drunk?"
"No, sir."
"Make sure you clean the dirty clothes I traveled back with. I'm heading to the office."
"I will do as you say, sir."
That was the same man I once called my husband, now standing there ordering me around in a house that he stole my money to build.
Before I could even finish my chores, Madam M.J called from the dining area.
"Shari!"
"Yes, madam."
"I want you to prepare my fiancé's favorite meal, the same way you prepared it the last time my manager came here."
I noticed something immediately. She no longer called Lailam her boyfriend. Now she referred to him as her manager. It was clear she had only been using him all along. Once the man she truly wanted appeared again, she quietly pushed the other one aside.
Life has its own funny ways.
After that, I prepared his favorite meal; The aroma filled the kitchen and spread across the house. Yet after cooking for them, I still had to gather his dirty clothes to scrub them.
Later that day, he walked in and saw me still drying the clothes outside.
"Shari!" he shouted angrily. "What were you doing the whole day that it's only now you are washing the clothes I told you to wash? You lazy girl!"
"I am sorry, sir. Madam asked me to help her in the kitchen."
Before he could complain further, she quickly interrupted.
"Yes darling, she helped me a little in the kitchen. Welcome home, darling."
She hugged him warmly.
Meanwhile, I knew very well that I was the one who had done all the cooking alone.
Later that evening, she ordered me to serve them dinner.
As I stood there with the plates in my hands, watching them laugh together like nothing had ever happened, a strange calmness settled inside me.
Quietly, I decided to add a little surprise to their food; something that would give them a night they would never forget and perhaps make them reflect deeply on their actions.
And that night, the game between us truly began.
But as I stood there thinking about sending them to the land of no return, something suddenly stopped me. It wasn't my conscience that held me back, it was patience.
I told myself quietly, "It's not yet time. I have to get back everything that is mine first."
So I swallowed the anger burning inside me and continued acting like nothing was wrong.
I arranged the food properly on the tray and carried it to the dining table. Just as I placed the dishes down, his fiancée walked in happily, holding his hand like a proud woman who believed she had already secured her future.
She pulled him gently toward the dining room.
"Come and eat, my love," she said with excitement.
Both of them sat down at the table like a king and queen. The moment he opened the food dish, his eyes widened with surprise.
"Wow!" he exclaimed loudly. "My favorite meal. It smells so good."
My heart skipped a beat hearing those words.
He quickly took a bite, chewing slowly as if trying to recognize the taste.
"Hmm… just the way I like it," he said with satisfaction.
"I am glad you like it," his fiancée replied proudly.
But after eating for a short while, he suddenly paused. His face changed slightly as if a memory had crossed his mind.
"But wait…" he said slowly. "Who taught you how to cook it this way?"
She looked at him, confused.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… I remember I always used to complain when you cooked this meal before. I even scolded you many times because it is our traditional food. You used to make the food taste like it was prepared with cold water, and the soup always had too many spices. But today…" he shook his head in surprise, "…today it is perfect."
She frowned immediately.
"Are you trying to insult me that I don't know how to cook?" she asked with an annoyed tone.
He raised his hands quickly.
"No, no. I'm not insulting you. I am appreciating your improvement. Your food is delicious today."
"Thank you," she replied proudly.
Meanwhile, I stood quietly behind the wall, listening to everything.
The painful part was that she was taking full credit for my hard work. I was the one who prepared the food. But I remained silent.
Then he said something that made my heart freeze.
"This food actually tastes the way that fool used to prepare it," he said.
His fiancée looked curious.
"Which fool?"
He laughed carelessly.
"Who else is a fool except my ex-wife? The one I left behind in Africa with nothing."
Hearing that nearly broke me, but I stayed calm.
Then she said something that made the conversation even darker.
"But you know you are still legally married to her. If she ever finds you here in Cameroon, she can sue you."
He waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't worry. I will take care of her very soon."
I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
Imagine someone planning your end without knowing you were standing just beside the wall, listening to every word.
A few minutes later he stood up from the table and walked past me. He didn't even recognize that the woman standing nearby was the same person he was talking about.
After he left the dining room briefly, his fiancée continued pressing him.
"You know you cannot marry me if you don't settle that problem first," she insisted.
"I know," he replied.
"You disappeared for a long time. No one even knows where you are. Just hire someone to deal with her and when she is gone, you can show up again and pretend you are now a widower."
He seemed a little worried.
"But what if she reported me to the police before?"
"I doubt it," she replied confidently. "No one asked questions and nobody even went to your relatives to investigate."
He nodded slowly.
"You are right. I once hired someone to check on her. The last report he gave me was that she was seen on the street begging for food."
"A beggar?" she laughed. "Was it really that bad? You are a bad boy… and that's why I like you."
He laughed too.
"And you, are you not a bad girl as well?" he said while looking around the big house proudly. "Look at all this. Thanks to your smart plan. Now I am a fulfilled man."
She smiled proudly.
"Remember the day she insulted you and called you a good-for-nothing man because you came home drunk? She felt superior because she was richer than you. After all, the house and the big shop belonged to her."
He smirked.
"Look at where she is now."
"A beggar," she added.
He nodded coldly.
"And it's very easy for a beggar to disappear. No one would come looking for her. The only person who still cared about her was her late uncle."
That was how they revealed the darkness in their hearts, and I heard everything clearly.
But a few days later, something happened that shocked me even more.