Azalea

“Ma’am,” the head maid called out as soon as she saw me walk into the kitchen. “Do you need something?”

I nodded, a bright smile spreading across my face. “Yes,” I responded, feeling excited about my plan. “I want to cook for my husband.”

Anna’s eyes widened with worry. “But ma’am,” she muttered carefully, choosing her words with care, “it’s our job. Please, let us handle the cooking.”

I could see the discomfort written all over ...