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I considered myself fortunate to have discovered our new maid, Anita. She was kind, upbeat, and usually had a smile on her face, especially when my husband was present. I initially thought it was innocent kindness. Actually, I used to make fun of her for being “too happy for a Monday morning.”

But as time went on, I saw that Anita’s smiles were warmer, longer, and primarily reserved for him. She would occasionally give him meals before me, stay in the living room while he was home, and laugh at his jokes. I told myself I was overanalyzing, but it still made me uneasy.

I discovered a tiny flower journal nestled beneath her pillow one afternoon as I was tidying the guest room. Curiosity overcame me, and I nearly put it back.

I was deeply shaken by what I read. Anita’s personal opinions regarding my husband filled page after page, referring to him “my sweet prince,” writing about dreams she had of marrying him, and even describing plans to make me “too sick to cook or clean so he’ll need me more.”

I flipped through her sentences, my hands shaking. This was obsession rather than innocuous admiration. What’s the worst? She had mentioned in her writing that she had slipped something into my drink.

That night, I addressed Anita. Before I gave her the diary, she initially denied everything. Her smile was gone in an instant.

Anita’s employment at my house ended on that day.

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