The door opened sharply.
A young woman stood there with the kind of beauty that looked expensive and the kind of expression that looked unpaid. Her hair was perfectly styled. Her perfume reached Angela before her words did.
“Yes?” the woman said, already frowning.
“I’m Angela, Ma,” Angela answered quickly. “I came for the househelp interview.”
The woman’s eyes swept Angela from head to toe like a scanner looking for defects.
Then she hissed, loud enough to embarrass the air.
“We don’t need you here.”
Angela blinked. “Ma?”
“You’re late,” the woman snapped. “Very late.”
Angela tried to explain. “Ma, I’m so sorry. There was—”
“That’s your business,” the woman cut in. “You should have left home earlier. And look at you. Slow. Sweating. Dirty girl. I don’t want someone like you in my house.”
Angela swallowed her tears like they were bitter medicine.
“Please, Ma,” she begged, “give me a chance.”
The woman stepped closer, narrowing her eyes.
“Chance for what? You even look like a husband snatcher. I don’t want you near my man. Get out. Don’t ever come here again.”
“Ma, please—”
The woman pushed the door wider, forcing Angela backward. Then she chased her outside, slamming the door so hard the sound felt personal.
Angela stood for a second at the edge of the compound, her envelope suddenly feeling like a joke.
Then she turned and began walking away, slow, her heart shaking.
She had walked under the sun for nothing.
