Chapter 9 - The Unpaid Servant
Very quickly, I realized my true role in that toxic household: I was an unpaid servant.
Doña Carmen had conveniently fired their domestic helper the very week I moved in.
"Since you are living here entirely for free, Valeria, the very least you can do is keep this house spotless," she announced one morning, tossing a massive, impossibly long list of chores onto the kitchen counter.
"Diego likes his shirts ironed with heavy starch, and Fernanda needs you to hand-wash her silk blouses because they are very delicate."
I worked eight hours a day at an intense advertising agency. I would come home at 6:00 PM, physically and mentally exhausted, only to find the kitchen looking like a war zone. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, and Fernanda would be sprawled on the living room sofa, watching soap operas and eating snacks.
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"Diego, I can't do this anymore. I'm exhausted," I complained to him one night in the privacy of our room.
"Just bear with it a little longer, Valeria. My mother is stressed," was his constant, pathetic excuse.
