The Maid by Sampoorna Gonella

The Maid

Sampoorna Gonella

The room sits in vacant silence as I slap a wet rag over the marble floor, a familiar wave of panic coating my skin. Occasionally a chime announces a tickle of wind at its feet, the corner of the newspaper dabs the coffee table until it surrenders itself back to quiet.

The scream is all too familiar, a roar ripping through his lungs, the fragile silence in the room, and every pore of my shivering skin. It spews a volcano of words, rattling against doors, windows and walls of my heart.

I tug the ends of my sari over my face as madam descends the stairs in whispered strides, shoulders hung in resignation, fresh powder clinging to the bruise on her cheek, her eyes lift just long enough to register the swollen half moon scoring my eye, a remnant of last night. She looks away from this mirror almost instinctively, before the truth can swell in her eyes.