The Housemaid (The Housemaid, #1)

by Freida McFadden

“I will never forget this, Millie,” she hisses in my ear.

“She’s got a credit card. She’ll just get a hotel room. Don’t worry about Nina.” Except I am worried about Nina. I’m very worried about Nina. But not in the way he thinks.

“Come on, Millie.” There’s a glint in Andrew’s eyes. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone.” Despite everything, I smile. “You have?” “You have no idea…”

well shit 👀

I imagine I can still hear Nina’s car engine in the distance. But that’s impossible. She’s gone. For good.

incorrect. calling it now lmao

“I love waking up next to you. Instead of her.” I feel the same way. I hope I get to wake up next to him tomorrow. And the morning after. Nina didn’t appreciate this man, but I do. She took her life for granted.

He gives me this sweet, charming smile, and I just melt. Nina had to be insane to let this guy get away. I’m still scared she’s going to want him back.

“It’s eight in the morning. He’s always here. There are a dozen other families he works for—why is he always here?” I shrug, but truthfully, he has a point. It does seem like Enzo is in our yard a lot. A disproportionate amount of time, even considering how much larger our yard is than many of the others.

“Che cosa?”

what?

It takes me a second to realize that Enzo has grabbed my arm. I turn around to look at him. His expression has completely changed since Andrew went back into the house. His dark eyes are wide as they stare into mine. “Millie,” he breathes, “you must get out of here. You are in terrible danger.” My mouth falls open. Not only because of what he said, but how he said it. Since I’ve been working here, he hasn’t managed to string together more than a couple of English words. And now he said two entire sentences. And not just that, but the Italian accent that is usually so thick that I can barely understand him, is far more subtle. It’s the accent of a man who is very comfortable with the English language. “I’m okay,” I say. “Nina is gone.” “No.” He shakes his head firmly, his fingers still wrapped around my arm. “You are wrong. She is not—”

He doesn’t even look up at me. It’s almost like I imagined the entire thing. Except when I look down at my arm, I can see the angry red marks his fingers left behind.

I don’t know if I would be okay with that if I were you.” I shrug. “She mostly just texts me. It’s not that bad.” “That’s not what I mean.” She nods at the phone. “I’m talking about the tracking app she installed. Doesn’t it drive you crazy that she wants to know where you are all the time?” I feel like I got sucker-punched in the stomach. Nina tracks me on my phone? What the hell? I’m so stupid. Of course she would do something like that. It makes perfect sense. And now I realize that she didn’t have to go through my purse to find that playbill or call the house the night of the show. She knew exactly where I was.

When I straighten up again, a car is making a quick exit from the parking lot. I recognize the white Lexus. It looks like Nina’s car. And then my phone starts to ring again.

It was a stupid spam caller. I just completely overreacted to the entire thing. But I still can’t push away the feeling that I’m in danger.

Nina was tracking me. I found the tracking app hidden in a random folder, somewhere I never would’ve seen it. I deleted it immediately. But I still can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching me. I close my eyes and I think of the warning Enzo gave me this morning. You must get out of here. You are in terrible danger. He was afraid of Nina.

“Stay away from Andrew Winchester!”

It still doesn’t turn. Panic mounts in my chest. I press myself against the door, the scratch marks in the wood splintering into my shoulder, and place my right hand squarely on the knob. I try once again to turn it clockwise. But it doesn’t budge. Not even a millimeter. And that’s when I realize what’s going on. The door isn’t stuck. It’s locked.

I hold the flickering light to the edge of the photograph until it catches. I watch my husband’s handsome face turn brown and disintegrate, until the sink is full of ashes. And I smile. My first real smile in almost eight years. I can’t believe I finally got rid of that asshole.

um… what

“How old is your baby?” he asks. My face flushes with pleasure the way it always does when somebody asks me about my daughter. “Five months.” “What’s her name?” “Cecelia.”

did she mention that she had a daughter?

And in return, I try to be a perfect wife. In my little free time, I work out at the gym to make sure I’m in perfect shape. I bought a wardrobe of absolutely impractical white clothing because he adores me in white. I’ve studied recipes online and I’m trying to cook for him as much as I can. I want to be worthy of this incredible life he’s given me.

what a stark contrast to how she presented herself when Millie got there

I still don’t understand why he picked me. He could have had any woman in the world. Why me?

“Hey,” he says. He tucks a strand of my own blond hair behind my ear. “I can see your roots starting to show a bit.” “Oh.” I touch my hairline self-consciously. Andy loves blond hair, so I started going to the salon after we got engaged to lighten my hair to more of a golden shade. “Gosh, I guess I’ve been so busy with Cece, it just slipped my mind.” I can’t quite read the expression on his face. He’s still smiling, but there’s something off about it. It doesn’t bother him that much that I missed a hair appointment, does it?

is that why she was letting her roots gets so bad?

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I look closer at the window and… It’s painted shut.

“Can you please open the door?” Another long silence. “No. Not yet.”

“Andy, you need to let me out of here.” “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house.” His voice has an odd intonation that I barely recognize as him. “You have to learn your lesson before you can be let out.”

“Nina?” Andy’s voice. I jump off the bed and sprint over to the door. “Andy,” I choke out with what’s left of my voice. “You lost your voice,” he acknowledges. I don’t know what to say to that. “You shouldn’t bother screaming,” he tells me. “Everything is soundproofed below the attic. So nobody will hear you. I could be having a dinner party downstairs and they would never hear you screaming.”

holy shit

“Don’t worry, Nina,” he says. “I’m going to let you out. I promise.” I let out a breath. “Just not yet,” he adds. “You have to learn the consequences of what you’ve done.” “What are you talking about? Consequences of what?” “Your hair.” His voice is filled with disgust. “I can’t have my wife walking around like a slob with dark roots showing.” My roots. I can’t believe he was that upset over it. I mean, it’s just a few millimeters of hair. “I’m so sorry. I promise, I’ll make an appointment with the hairdresser right away.” “That’s not enough.” I press my forehead against the door. “I’ll go first thing tomorrow morning. I swear.” He yawns on the other side of the door. “I’m going to sleep now. You just hang tight and we’ll talk more in the morning about your punishment.”

“Because you couldn’t take care of your hair, now you will give it to me.” I have a horrible, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What?” “Not all of it.” He chuckles, because of course that would be ridiculous. “I want a hundred strands.” “You… you want a hundred strands of my hair?” “That’s right.” He taps on the door. “Give me one hundred strands of your hair, and I’ll let you out of the room.”

ಠ_ಠ

I stand there, stunned. “Are you serious?” “Does it sound like I’m joking?” he snaps. His voice then softens. “There are a few envelopes in the dresser drawer. You put the hairs in there and slide them under the door. If you do that, you’ll have learned your lesson and I’ll let you out.”

“Where is Cece?” I choke out. “She’s in her playpen downstairs,” he says. We created a gated, safe area in the living room where she could play without worrying about her hurting herself. It was Andy’s idea. He’s so thoughtful. No, he’s not thoughtful. That was all an illusion. An act. He’s a monster.

“Hmm,” Andy says. “What?” I croak. “What is it?” “See,” he says, “almost all of the strands are fine, but one of them doesn’t have a hair follicle on it.” Bastard. “Fine. I’ll give you a new one.” “I’m afraid not,” he sighs. “You’ll have to start all over again. I’ll check in on you tomorrow morning. Hopefully by then, you’ll have one hundred intact hairs for me. Otherwise, we’ll have to just keep trying.” “No…” His footsteps disappear down the hall, and it hits me he’s really leaving me. With no food and no water. “Andy!” My voice is hoarse and not much better than a whisper. “Don’t do this! Please! Please don’t do this!” But he’s gone.

holy shit this fucking guy

My eyelids feel like lead—I can’t fight the urge to fall asleep. Andy sits beside me, at the edge of the bed, running his fingers through my hair. “You just haven’t been feeling well,” he says. “You need a day of sleep. Don’t worry about Cecelia. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.” His voice is so kind and gentle, I start to wonder if maybe I imagined the whole thing. After all, he’s been such a good husband. Would he really lock me up in a room and make me pull out my hair? That doesn’t sound like something he would do. Maybe I just have a fever and this is all a horrible hallucination? No. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was real. I know it was. “I hate you,” I whisper. Andy ignores my statement as he continues to stroke my hair until my eyes drift shut. “Just get some sleep,” he says gently. “That’s all you need.”

did he drug that cup of water?

“Mrs. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Why were you trying to drown your daughter?” I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Drown my daughter? What is he talking about? I was trying to save her. Can’t they see that? But the policeman just shakes his head. He turns to one of his colleagues. “She’s too out of it. Looks like she took a bunch of the drugs herself. Get her to the hospital. I’ll call the husband and let him know we got here in time.” Got here in time? What’s he talking about? I’ve just been sleeping all day. For God’s sake, what do they think I’ve done?

oh no :( this guy really is just the fucking worst kinda sounds like Nina was trying to protect Millie by trying to scare her away with the threat of prison again :(

He reaches for my hand, and I flinch but manage not to pull away. When I first came here, I couldn’t bear for him to touch me. But I’ve managed to push my feelings of revulsion aside. Andy didn’t do anything to me. It was my screwed-up brain that imagined it all. But it felt so real.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” “What do you think?” “I think you’re a crazy, sick asshole.” Andy laughs on the other side of the door. “Maybe. But you were the one who was in a loony bin for trying to kill yourself and your daughter. The police saw you doing it. You admitted to having done it. And by the time they came here to check things out, this room looked exactly like a storage closet.” “It was real,” I gasp. “It was real the whole time. You…” “I wanted you to know what you’re dealing with.” His tone is amused. He finds this entertaining. “I wanted you to know what would happen if you tried to get away.” “I understand.” I clear my throat. “I swear to you, I won’t leave. Just let me out of here.” “Not yet. First you have to be disciplined for wasting electricity.”

“For starters, you don’t tell anyone what went on in this room.” His voice is firm. “You don’t tell your friends, you don’t tell your doctor, you don’t tell anyone. Because nobody will believe you, and if you talk about it, it’s just going to be a sign that you’re having delusions again and poor Cecelia could be in danger.”

“Do you understand, Nina?” “Yes,” I manage. “Good.” I can almost imagine his satisfied smirk. “Second, from time to time, if you need to be disciplined, that will take place in this room.” Is he kidding me? “No way. Forget it.” “I don’t think you’re in a position to negotiate, Nina.” He snorts. “I’m just telling you how it’s going to be. You are my wife now, and I have very specific expectations. Really, it’s for your own good. I taught you a valuable lesson about wasting electricity, didn’t I?” I gasp for air in the blackness. I feel like I’m choking. “This is for you, Nina,” he says. “Look at the horrible choices you made in your life before I came along. You had a dead-end minimum-wage job. You got knocked up by some loser who didn’t stick around. I’m just trying to teach you how to be a better person.” “I wish I had never met you,” I spit out. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.” He laughs. “I guess I can’t blame you. I’m impressed that you managed to unscrew one of those lightbulbs though. I didn’t even think of that.” “You… How did you…?” “I’m watching you, Nina. I’m always watching.” I can hear him breathing behind the door. “This is going to be our lives from now on. We will be a happily married couple like everyone else. And you will be the best wife in the entire neighborhood. I’ll make sure of that.”

I tried playing the part of the perfect wife, hoping not to give him an excuse to take me up to the attic. I cooked delicious homemade dinners, kept the house spotless, and even pretended not to be repulsed when we had sex. But he always found something. Something I never would have even imagined I did wrong. Eventually, I gave up.

really seems like Nina was trying to prepare Millie for what she had waiting for her when Andy finally got rid of her to be with her

If Cecelia does something unacceptable, I’m the one who gets punished. He has purchased a wardrobe of itchy, frilly dresses that she hates, that the other children make fun of her for wearing, but she knows if she doesn’t wear them or gets them dirty, her mother will disappear for days (likely naked, to teach me clothing is a privilege). So she obeys.

His other favorite way to taunt me is keeping a jar of peanut butter in our pantry, even though he knows that she’s allergic. I have thrown it away dozens of times, and it always reappears—and sometimes I get punished for the transgression. Thankfully, it’s not a life-threatening allergy—she just breaks out in welts all over her body. Every once in a while, he slips a little bit into her dinner, just to prove a point when the itchy, uncomfortable rash sprouts after our meal has ended.

If I knew I wouldn’t go to jail for it, I would pick up a steak knife and drive it through his neck. Andy has prepared for that contingency though. Of course, he knows that my temptation to arrange for his death or outright kill him myself might become overwhelming. He has informed me that in the event of his death from any cause, a letter will be sent from his attorney to the police department, informing them of my unstable behavior and homicidal threats against him. Not that he needs to do it, with my psychiatric history. So I stay with him. And I don’t murder him in his sleep. Or hire a hitman. But I do fantasize.

“Ciao, Signora.”

hello, ma’am

I haven’t worked since the day I moved in here—Andy won’t let me. I miss it. Enzo would understand. I know he would. Too bad he doesn’t speak any English.

Andy wants another child. Another little person who I will love and want to protect, who he will use to control me for years to come. I can’t let that happen. So I drove to a clinic in the city, gave a fake name, and paid in cash for them to insert an IUD. I’ve practiced my perplexed expression when the pregnancy tests come back negative.

Anyway, somehow last night the air freshener was too much and it irritated his eyes. My punishment? I had to pepper-spray myself. Oh yes. He left the bottle of pepper spray in the dresser drawer. Point it at your eyes and pull the trigger. Also, keep your eyes open. Or it won’t count. So I’ve done it. I sprayed myself with pepper spray just to get out of this goddamn room.

About a minute later, a fist pounds on the attic door. I step back, cowering against the wall. “Nina!” It’s Enzo’s voice. “Nina! I know you are in there!” I clear my throat. “I’m fine!” The doorknob jiggles. “If you are fine, open the door and show me you are fine.” It hits me at that moment that Enzo is speaking pretty good English. I had been under the impression that he understood some English and spoke far less, but his English seems excellent right now. His Italian accent isn’t even that thick.

“You do not deserve to be treated this way,” he finally says.

I tell him everything as his face grows darker and darker. Before I even finish, Enzo lets loose with a string of Italian. I don’t know the language, but I know curse words when I hear them. His fingers squeeze on the clippers until they turn white. “I kill him,” he hisses. “Tonight, I will kill him.” All the blood drains out of my face. It felt so good to tell him everything that happened to me, but it was a mistake. He is beyond furious. “Enzo…” “He is a monster!” he bursts out. “You do not want me to kill him?”

i love Enzo <3

“I had a feeling,” he says. “Your husband—I could tell he is bad guy.”

“My sister Antonia’s husband—he was like yours. A bad guy. A rich, powerful bad guy, who made himself feel better by slapping her around. I tell her, leave… but she would not. Then one day, he pushed her down the stairs and she never woke up at the hospital.” He grabs the sleeve of his T-shirt and pulls it up to reveal the tattoo I have seen of the heart with the name Antonia inscribed in it. “Now this is how I remember her.” “Oh.” I clasp a hand over my mouth. “I’m so sorry.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “There is no justice for men like him. No jail. No punishment for murdering my sister. So I decided to punish him. Myself.” I remember the dark look in his eyes when I told him what Andy did to me. I will kill him. “Did you…?” “No.” He cracks his knuckles again—the sound echoes through the tiny apartment. “I did not go that far. And I regret this. Because after that, my life was worth nothing. Niente. I had to take everything I had and use it to get out.” He takes a drink from his beer bottle. “If I ever go back, I will be killed before I leave the airport.” I don’t know what to say. “Was it hard for you to leave?” “Will it be hard for you to leave here?”

“You will need passports for you and Cecelia.” He ticks it off on his fingers. “A driver’s license. Birth certificates. Enough cash to keep you going until you can find work. And two plane tickets.” My heart speeds up. “So I need money…” “I have some saved up I can give you,” he says. “Enzo, I couldn’t possibly—” He waves off my protest. “It is not enough though. You will need more. Can you get it?” I’ll have to find a way.