While I was cleaning the dining area that evening, a certain man walked into the house with my runaway husband and sat comfortably on the couch. I kept sweeping quietly as if I was not paying attention, but my ears were wide open.
My husband then brought out a picture from his pocket and showed it to the man.
"I want you to find this woman in this picture," he said in a low but serious voice. "I learned that she was last seen roaming the streets begging. If you find this beggar, you already know what exactly to do."
"I will do that, sir," the man replied confidently.
At that moment my heart skipped. My runaway husband had decided to hire some dangerous boys from the street to take my life. Hearing those words made my body cold, but I tried my best not to show any reaction.
I had to be very careful now. The only luck I had was that nobody who truly knew me had any idea where I was living at that moment. Most of the people who once knew me were back in the village and had not seen me since everything happened.
My madam hardly sent me on errands outside the house. I always had plenty of house chores to do, and most times she preferred to drive to the shop herself while I remained at home sweating and working from morning till evening.
In fact, the only day I stepped out of the house was the day I had that accident, which was not actually an accident as she made everyone believe.
The truth was different.
That bottle she had thrown at her ex-boyfriend during their quarrel ended up hitting my head when I tried to intervene. The force of the impact pushed me backwards and I rolled down the staircase.
That was how I got the injury that forced the doctors to place a cast around my head. I had also lost a lot of weight during that period, and the fracture on my jaw bone made it difficult for me to speak clearly.
Because of all these changes, nobody would easily recognize that I was the same woman who once married to the man I was now serving in house.
Yes, the same man.
Everything in that house originally belonged to me. My runaway husband had secretly sold my shop and the mansion my late father left for me. That mansion even had several apartments where tenants used to live and pay rent.
After selling everything and collecting the money, he disappeared without a trace.
Now here he was again, living comfortably and even planning to remove me from the world completely.
The painful part was that he did not know that I was already living under the same roof with him. I was the one cooking his meals, washing his clothes, and serving his food every single day.
Meanwhile, he was busy hiring someone outside to end my life.
Sometimes when I served him food, the thought would cross my mind that I could easily drop something harmful inside his plate. He would eat, sleep at night, and never wake up again.
But I quickly pushed such thoughts away.
What I really wanted was a clue that could help me regain everything he had stolen from me.
Inside my small bag, I was secretly hiding some important documents. If he ever found them, he would immediately discover my true identity.
Fortunately for me, he had never cared enough to ask for my identification. When my madam once asked, I simply told her that I had no ID card with me.
However, there was another document I had carefully hidden in my room. I knew nobody would easily find it.
That single document was the only proof I had that could take him to court someday. It was also the only proof that could help me reclaim my life.
But my husband had become extremely secretive. Even when he was handing my picture to the man he hired, his fiancée was sitting nearby pressing her phone without paying attention to anything happening around her.
She did not even bother to look at the picture.
If she had looked closely, she might have shouted immediately that the woman in the picture was the same maid serving them food every day.
But my husband was also trying to hide my identity from her.
I didn't know why. Maybe he still didn't fully trust her with all his secrets.
Many men believe that women talk too much, so they keep certain things to themselves.
Still, one question kept disturbing my mind.
What would happen when the man he hired searched everywhere and could not find the beggar he was looking for?
But I was also afraid.
Because the moment my husband decided to show that same picture to his fiancée, my cover would be blown instantly, and I knew my life would no longer be safe in that house.
Then one evening, a few days later, I overheard his fiancée asking him a question that made my heart race.
"Why is it that you have never wanted me to see the face of your wife?" she asked curiously.
My husband laughed quietly before replying.
"Some things are safer when they remain buried with us men. You women talk too much."
"But what if I see her somewhere one day?" she insisted.
"Don't worry," he said calmly. "You will only see her on the day of her funeral."
The moment I heard those words, I knew that danger was getting closer than I ever imagined. I needed to steal that picture from him.
Imagine my runaway hubby telling a woman who was just his girlfriend; the same woman he didn't even fully trust, his partner in crime who stood by him so they could trick me and collect my money. Promising her that very soon she was going to see my face… but at my funeral. Just thinking about it was enough to send cold shivers down my spine. It meant a lot. It meant he was never going to rest until I was completely finished.
That was the reason I had to hide my face from him and do everything possible not to be uncovered. I had already lost too much to lose my life as well.
But since that day, I didn't hear from or see Lailam again. Whatever she told him that kept him away was very effective. Maybe she warned him, maybe she convinced him to stay away for a while. I honestly didn't know. All I knew was that the house became peaceful again, and for the first time in a long while I could breathe a little.
One day, M.J went to the market to get some foodstuffs. I was doing my house chores as usual; sweeping the compound and arranging some things in the kitchen, when Tara walked up to me and started asking me questions.
He started by teasing me.
"Do you actually smile?"
I paused for a moment before answering.
"Yes, but the pain on my face doesn't permit me to."
"I was asking because I don't even know what your face looks like," he said with a half smile.
"I might be faceless for now, but I am not heartless sir."
He chuckled softly.
"There is something I wanted to ask you ever since I returned from abroad."
"Go ahead sir."
Then he paused for a while, like someone trying to find the right words. I could tell he was thinking deeply, maybe even trying to trick me into saying something.
"It's not good that someone should be working in my house and I don't know her name or where she is coming from, especially when I don't even know her face. What is your name?"
"My name is Shari, sir."
"That's just the short form of that name. What's the full name?"
For a moment my heart started beating faster. I knew I had to be careful.
"My full name is… my name is Shariven." I lied.
"Okay," he nodded slowly.
"There is something else I want to ask you. We can be best friends if you tell me the truth."
"No problem sir."
"When I was abroad, you have been living here with my fiancée for quite a while now. Is there something you noticed about her that you think I need to know?"
"Like what sir?"
"A boyfriend maybe. Did she keep late nights? Did she entertain any visitors in my house, especially male visitors?"
I thought for a moment before answering.
"Sir, you know that in places like this we have to mind our business. I was minding my own business most of the time. But there was only one man that used to come here, and I think he meant no harm."
"And who was that?"
"Your manager. The manager of your company."
"Okay," he replied calmly.
But deep down I was worried about the manager. I kept wondering how he was faring. I even wondered if he was still working there. Ever since Tara returned, the manager had been missing from the house.
So before Tara left, I indirectly tried to find out.
"But sir, it's been a while since I have seen the manager again."
"He is busy with work," Tara replied shortly.
"Okay sir."
Then he walked away.
But a few minutes later he came back again and stood right in front of me.
"I cannot have a domestic staff in my house when I don't even know her real name or her origin. It doesn't make sense."
"You are right sir."
"Go to your room and bring me your ID. When I am going out, I will need a photocopy of it."
My heart skipped.
"When do you need it sir?"
"Immediately. Go into your room and bring it."
That was the exact moment I knew my secret was about to come into the open, and my life was suddenly at stake again.