Sometimes I reminded her that I was not her maid. Other times, especially when my children were nearby, I remained silent.
Aaron noticed everything. He hated the messes and the insulting comments about my cooking, parenting, and housekeeping. But whenever he confronted Diane, she immediately transformed herself into the victim.
“I was only helping.”
“I suppose I’m no longer welcome.”
“Nothing I do is ever good enough.”
Then she would pretend to cry until Aaron felt guilty for defending me.
So we tolerated her, and I cleaned up after every visit.
Then came one exhausting Saturday.
I had spent the entire morning deep-cleaning the kitchen because friends were visiting the following day. The floors had just been mopped, the counters were shining, and the sink was empty.
At 12:30, the doorbell rang.
