Aunt May Harper is our housekeeper. She’s usually quiet, looks like an honest, simple woman, and is 22 years older than my husband, Henry. I never thought twice about her. But lately, I’ve noticed something odd—our dog Lucky has been missing more often… 0“Aunt May, why are you washing my husband’s underwear again?” Aunt May Harper is the housekeeper we hired; she’s 48 and isn’t much of a talker, except when she’s doing chores. She comes across as very honest and down-to-earth. She wears clothes her daughter-in-law didn’t want anymore, and every month she sends her paycheck back home to support her two-year-old grandson. Even if she’s washing Henry’s underwear, I don’t suspect a thing. Her age alone could make her Henry’s mom. Usually, I just tell her once or twice not to do it again, and that’s the end of it. Aunt May looked a little stunned, put down what she was doing, and said, a little awkwardly, “I was tidying up earlier and saw them dirty on the bed, so I grabbed them to wash. I’ll remember not to next time.” Aunt May’s apology was sincere, and I didn’t want to be harsh with her. The woman had a rough life—her husband was paralyzed, her two sons never amounted to much, and she lost her only daughter. With everyone relying on her, she’s had enough hardship for a lifetime. “Alright.” I nodded. Ever since I got pregnant, I had Henry hand-wash both his and my clothes. I don’t like anyone else handling my personal laundry. I’m six months along now, and in a few more months, I’ll be a mom. “Aunt May, I’m hungry; make something to eat,” I said, keeping it simple. “Shouldn’t we wait for Henry?” she asked. Henry comes home every night around 7; it was only 4, and I’m used to dinner being made around 6. I think I’m pretty considerate of Aunt May. She only cooks three meals daily, not the eight other housekeepers are sometimes expected to prepare. And when I get hungry in the middle of the night, I have Henry go make food for me—I try not to bother her. But here she was asking if we should wait. Just because Henry wasn’t home, doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat! “No, make it now. I’m hungry,” I replied, a little irritated. What was going on in Aunt May’s head? I hired her to look after me, not Henry. I ask for food, she makes it—what’s all the fuss? Maybe I was overly sensitive, thanks to being pregnant, but Aunt May’s comment didn’t sit right. She nodded reluctantly, saying, “Alright… I’ll make it now.” She headed for the kitchen, and I made my way to the living room. Aunt May made my favorites: savory mushroom stir-fry, tofu with preserved egg, green bean pork stew, and a pot of hearty gourd soup. Aunt May cooked well—her food was always delicious and her kitchen skills swift, and I did like that about her. After eating, I sprawled out on the couch with my phone. Suddenly, the smell of pork hock soup filled the air, and I froze. Why was Aunt May cooking pork hock? I was already done with dinner. “Aunt May, you making pork hock soup?” I asked, unable to resist. “Yup! Got it in the pressure cooker,” she called from the kitchen. That smell was so rich, my stomach growled again. My mom had bought those pork hocks herself from a farm—she said they came from pigs fed on grain and freshly butchered. Mom assured me that soup from those hocks would taste better than anything store-bought. A few hours passed, and Henry finally got home. As soon as he stepped through the door, I perked up, smiling. “Hey, honey.” He had strawberries in hand—my absolute favorite. “You’re back! Change your shoes; dinner’s ready.” I’d just slipped into my house slippers and was about to greet him when Aunt May beat me to the door. She took his coat and hung it up, even bending down to set out his slippers. She then casually returned to the kitchen like nothing unusual happened. My clueless husband walked over with a grin, saying, “Look, honey—strawberries!” He must have sensed I was a little annoyed but would never guess the reason. What was wrong with me? Was I seriously jealous of a 48-year-old woman? Did she have a thing for Henry, or was I just overly sensitive? 0
“Nothing’s wrong,” I muttered. “Let’s eat.” Aunt May served the dishes: Kung Pao chicken, the pork hock soup, stir-fried mushrooms, and sweet and sour fish. “Wow, it all looks amazing! I’ll just go wash my hands,” Henry said, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before heading to the bathroom. He had no idea I’d already eaten. I sat at the table, looking at the fresh dishes and feeling annoyed again. “Aunt May, why did you make new dishes? Where are my leftovers?” She chuckled nervously. “Oh, I… I ate them.” Just then, Henry emerged from the bathroom. “Aunt May, you don’t have to eat leftovers,” he said. “From now on, just join us.” “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be right.” Aunt May glanced at me and then back at Henry. “There’s nothing wrong with it; join us.” Henry smiled, oblivious to my annoyance. I put down my chopsticks and, in a low voice, asked, “Henry Graham, what do you mean by that?” Aunt May quickly ducked back into the kitchen, saying, “I’ll just go wash the dishes.” She shut the kitchen door behind her, avoiding eye contact. Henry looked at me, bewildered, then picked up a piece of fish and put it on my plate. “Honey, what’s got you mad? Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” That’s my husband for you—always clueless as to why I’m upset and incapable of reflecting on his own. I’m usually straightforward, so I said, “When did I ever tell Aunt May to eat leftovers?” When Aunt May cooks, she takes a small portion out for herself and eats at a little table in the kitchen. That’s her space, so why would she suddenly be eating the food I’d set aside for Henry? The plan was for her to heat it up for him when he got home. “My mistake, totally my mistake,” Henry said, tapping his lips with his hand. “Honey, you’re pregnant; don’t get upset.” Staring at the spread on the table, I’d lost my appetite entirely. “And why did you invite Aunt May to eat with us? What were you thinking?” I asked, keeping my voice low. In my opinion, it’s best to maintain some boundaries; getting too close just makes things awkward. My cousin learned that the hard way when she got overly friendly with her housekeeper, only to have the woman refuse to leave when she was let go. She even accused my cousin of being ungrateful for not remembering all the care she’d given her during her postpartum recovery, forgetting that she’d been hired for that very job. Henry put down his chopsticks and raised his voice, clearly agitated. “What was I thinking? Aunt May is busy taking care of you; why can’t she eat with us?” “Henry Graham, you’re a jerk!” I shoved his shoulder, stormed off to our bedroom, and locked the door. He knocked, pleading, “Honey, come on. Open the door; I’m sorry, alright?” I sighed. When I’d married him, my parents disapproved, said he wasn’t stable enough, and didn’t trust him since he was from out of state. But I’d insisted. Though they’d come around, Henry always carried a chip on his shoulder, thinking my family looked down on him. In his eyes, me not wanting Aunt May at the table was a sign I was looking down on her, the same way he thought my parents looked down on him. By 10 p.m., he was back at the door, apologizing again, “Honey, open up. I really am sorry.” I grabbed his pillow and blanket, opened the door, and handed them to him. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said flatly. My mood was so sour; I just wanted to be alone. He took the pillow and blanket, nodding. “Alright, but make sure you close the window tonight, so you don’t catch a chill.” I nodded, shutting the door behind him. As I lay in bed, my mind wandered. If I’d been born into the same circumstances as Henry, would I have ended up sensitive and insecure like him? His mother left him when he was six, his dad was always working, and his grandma was the one who raised him. But he’d pulled himself up, put himself through college, and within three years of graduation, he’d made supervisor at a major tech firm. It’s no good letting him sleep on the couch. He has to work tomorrow. I glanced at the clock: 1 a.m. I got out of bed, opened the door, and turned on the living room light—only to see Aunt May sleeping on the couch, wrapped up in Henry’s blanket. My hands clenched into fists. “Henry Graham, where are you?” 0
Aunt May jolted awake, visibly startled, and looked up at me. She rubbed her eyes, coming over to whisper, “Sam, don’t yell. Henry’s in my room, sleeping. He’s got work tomorrow.” She had given Henry the guest room, taking the couch for herself. Aunt May sure was going above and beyond for him. Just then, Henry emerged from the guest room, rubbing his eyes, wearing only his underwear. He looked exhausted. “What’s going on, honey?” he asked, yawning. “Who told you to sleep in Aunt May’s room? And put some clothes on!” I snapped, tossing a pillow at him. He grinned sheepishly, saying, “I just forgot in my hurry.” He looked at me questioningly. “So… can I come back to our room now?” He gathered up his blanket and pillow and went back into our bedroom, closing the door behind him as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Aunt May, too, seemed unfazed, as if she found my reaction overblown. But I could barely contain my frustration. Should I tell her to keep her distance from my husband? To stop being so attentive? Finally, I muttered, “Aunt May, just go to bed. You don’t need to help with my husband.” “Yes, of course. I’ll remember that,” she replied, nodding. I went back into the bedroom, slamming the door. Henry was lying in bed, smiling at me, “Come to bed, honey.” I climbed in, grabbing a pillow and whacking him with it. “Who told you to sleep in Aunt May’s room? What’s going on between you two?” He looked at me, clearly baffled, and sighed, resting a hand on my belly. “Honey, I know your hormones are all over the place. But Aunt May’s old enough to be my mom, and honestly, she’s not even attractive. I’d have to be blind.” “Then why are you sleeping in her room, letting her use your blanket and pillow? If you’re not into her, how do you know she’s not into you?” I whispered, glaring. Henry snorted, laughing. “That couch is way too small. She just offered me her room for the night. If you want Aunt May gone, just fire her and hire someone new.” That suggestion felt right to me. “Alright, then let’s fire Aunt May.” 0
The next day, I didn’t get up until noon. Aunt May had already set the table with food, her eyes slightly red as though she’d been crying. As soon as I sat down, she spoke up, “Sam, why do you suddenly want to fire me? Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, and I’ll fix it.” Her voice was shaky and fearful, and she clung to my arm like her life depended on it. “Sam, please, let me stay. I’ll take such good care of you,” she pleaded, looking genuinely distressed. I gave her a reasonable excuse. “Aunt May, my mom’s coming to take care of me. You know I’m not working, and Henry’s paycheck alone isn’t that much. We need to cut down on costs.” Aunt May looked crushed and quickly replied, “I’ll take a pay cut! Don’t make me leave, okay?” A pay cut? For someone like Aunt May, who could easily find work elsewhere, this was unnecessary. Could she really have feelings for my husband? She gave a tight, awkward smile when I didn’t answer right away. “Sam, it’s already the 23rd. Could I just work until the end of the month? Just one more week to find a new job?” I considered her request, but something about letting her stay for another week made me uneasy. I was six months pregnant, and I couldn’t risk anything happening with just the two of us home. Trying to stay calm, I said, “Aunt May, you’re reliable and hardworking. I’m sure you’ll find work in no time. You’ve taken great care of me, so just think of these seven days as paid leave. I’ll give you a full month’s salary.” Of course, my mom had no idea I planned to let Aunt May go. With Henry and my parents not getting along, I hadn’t asked them to stay with me. Not only did I want to avoid family drama, but I didn’t want my mom overextending herself at her age. Aunt May’s expression turned dark, but she managed to rein it in, “Fine, I won’t overstay my welcome. I’ll start packing.” She returned to the guest room, taking half an hour to gather her things. When she came out, she had a black bag slung over her shoulder and two shopping totes in hand. “Sam, could you pay me today?” she asked. Since her pay typically came on the 10th, I agreed and transferred her final month’s pay through the app. She glanced at her phone, sneered, and in an instant, her demeanor changed completely. “Sam Taylor, you’re really something. So high and mighty, just because you’re pregnant? Henry’s patience with your moods is a blessing. In my hometown, a wife like you would have been thrown out ages ago!” She spat out the words, and for a moment, I was speechless. Who would have thought such vile words could come from Aunt May, of all people? I regretted giving her the extra week’s pay, especially since she hadn’t been hired through an agency, which meant I couldn’t even file a complaint. “Couldn’t even let me eat at the table with you,” she added, her tone scathing. With someone like her, you never knew when she might seek revenge. “Get out of my house,” I said coldly. She looked at my stomach, smirked, and said, “You’ll never have a son. Just a spoiled little girl.” “May Harper, if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.” I couldn’t take it any longer and threatened her.
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