As I woke up, I knew my life would remain unchanged – just another day of routine. I lay in bed, pondering what lay ahead, and wished I could simply linger under the covers forever. The fear of facing the day's challenges left me wallowing in frustration. My mind began to wander, lost in daydreams of a life I'd rather lead – one where I was born with privilege, free from worries, with servants at my beck and call. I envisioned spending my days shopping and lounging in leisure. But these were just fantasies, far from reality. I gazed up at the old roof above me, still lost in thought, when suddenly, a voice called out to me, jolting me back to reality.
"Zita!" the voice called out. I tried to ignore the persistent shouting, but it didn't stop. "Zita! Zita! It's daytime – get out of bed now!" The voice continued to echo through the room. I dragged myself out of the old, creaky bed, which let out a rusty groan as I stood up. Finally, I responded to the call, just to silence the yelling. "Alright, Ma, I'm coming. Can't I just rest a bit? It's still early – do we need to wake up the whole neighborhood with my name, like always?"
I walked into the sitting room, where my mom sat folding clothes. "Why do you always need me to shout your name so early? You know we have to get to work early today," she scolded. I shrugged it off. "Yeah, I know. I was just... saying a quick prayer," I lied. I left her presence to shower and get ready for work.
I hesitated to call it "work" – it wasn't exactly something to brag about. My mom did laundry and cleaned houses for others, and I'd just finished secondary school with no prospects or support for university. With no other options, I was helping her out to ease her burden. Life had dealt us a tough hand – my dad had passed away, and my older brother had been lost to a deadly disease years ago. Now, it was just me and my mom, facing the struggles together.
It was just me and my mom against the world now. I got ready for the daily grind, but deep down, I yearned for more. I wanted to be special, to be rich and carefree. I didn't want to end up like my mom, struggling to make ends meet. But opportunities seemed scarce for people like us. The poor kept getting poorer, and the rich kept getting richer – that was the harsh reality.
As we walked out of our compound together, we greeted our neighbors, exchanging warm smiles. But our morning routine was disrupted by a loud, authoritative voice – our landlord's. "Mama Zee, I hope you're aware you have until the end of the month to vacate the premises."
"Out of my house?" I turned, mortified, as the landlord's words cut deep. My mom stood tall, despite the desperation in her voice. "Sir, you know how things are. I won't be able to find a new place before the end of the month. Please, give me more time," she pleaded, her words trembling.
Seeing my mom on the verge of tears was unbearable. As a 16-year-old, I felt helpless, but I knew I had to stand up for her. "Sir, you don't have to humiliate us in front of our neighbors. We're not behind on rent. Why do you always target my family?" I took my mom's hand, and we walked out of the compound, not looking back.
As we walked away, I could still hear the landlord's parting words, criticizing my outburst. I focused on comforting my mom, reassuring her that things would get better. We arrived at the house we were cleaning for the day, already running late due to the confrontation and traffic. The lady of the house greeted us with a scowl, her anger palpable. We exchanged greetings, and my mom apologized for our tardiness, but Mrs. Flair cut her off, heading straight to the kitchen without a care for the explanation. I stood anxiously, hoping my mom wouldn't get fired – she already had too much on her plate.
As I waited in the sitting room, I heard footsteps descending the stairs. A tall, muscular figure emerged, and I couldn't help but stare. He was handsome, like a demigod. My eyes widened, and I quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed. He noticed my gaze and spoke up, "You don't have to look away, dear. Who are you, and what are you doing in my sitting room?"
I composed myself and introduced myself as the cleaner's daughter, explaining that we were there to clean the house. He smiled and sat down on the couch. Just then, my mom and Mrs. Flair walked out of the kitchen. I studied my mom's face, trying to gauge her interaction with Mrs. Flair, but her expression seemed neutral.
I struggled to read my mom's expression, but Mrs. Flair called me over to assign tasks. As I walked over, I caught Mr. Handsome's eye, and he smiled. I felt shy but quickly composed myself and headed to my workstation, where I met two more attractive young men. "What's going on? Why is everyone so handsome?" I thought to myself. I greeted them and learned they were Mrs. Flair's sons – Mich, Moe, and Mike.
As I washed dishes in the kitchen, my mom approached me, looking serious. I braced myself, worried I'd misinterpreted the situation. "What is it, Mom?" I asked, holding my breath. She took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Flair wants us to move into the boys' quarters so we don't have to commute."
I was thrilled to hear the news – we weren't fired, and we'd be moving into the beautiful home's boys' quarters. The prospect of living on-site, with a monthly salary and better pay, was a welcome relief. And, I couldn't deny the excitement of being close to the handsome brothers. We finished our chores and headed home to pack, eager to make the move. Little did I know, this decision would prove to be the greatest mistake we'd ever make.