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Synopsis:
*Klara works as a maid on the weekends, cleaning her neighbours’ houses for extra cash. She is apprehensive to take on a job working for her stepdad, who separated from her mom a couple of years before. Her stepdad took everything in the divorce, including the house that Klara grew up in! Seeing an opportunity, she steals money from his wallet when she goes inside to clean. But Klara’s luck takes a turn for the worse when her stepdad returns and catches her red handed. She has no choice but to take his punishment, no matter how brutal.*
I grimaced as I pulled up outside the big white house with the red door. It was exactly how I’d remembered it, neat and tidy with roses around the border. I had hoped that my stepdad might have let it fall into a state of disrepair, so that he wouldn’t get to admire its beauty every day like I had done growing up there.
No such luck. If anything, the house looked better than ever. I could tell that the door had been freshly painted, and the lawn was absolutely immaculate. I made a face, and reached over to the passenger seat to grab my cleaning supplies. This was a low moment.
I hauled the heavy bag and myself out of the car, and then walked slowly up the path towards the front door. I couldn’t believe that I was in this situation, but there was no use grumbling about it now. Times were hard, and I needed money.
It just felt so demeaning to be working as a maid, especially when I had a degree in sociology from a reputable college. But the economy was tough, and since graduating from college I got myself into a lot of trouble. I’d been hanging out with the wrong sort of people, and one way another I’d ended up getting myself into a lot of debt. So, I decided to start my own little business venture on the side, working as a maid at weekends in order to try and supplement my income. It wasn’t ideal, but there were no start-up fees (aside from purchasing a few cleaning products) and there was a definite demand in my area for my services.
I quickly learned to work fast and efficiently, and most weekends I managed to visit at least six or seven houses. I worked hard, but that meant I reaped the benefits. However, no matter how hard I work it just didn’t seem like enough. I was always short at the end of the month, always counting my pennies and depriving myself of little luxuries. It seemed like my entire life consisted of nothing but work, work, work.
That was why I decided to take on a new ‘client’ as it were. My stepdad was one of the wealthiest people in the neighbourhood, and I put most of it down to the fact that he managed to squeeze everything out of my mom when they got divorced. He kept the house, the cars, and retained all the rights to the family business. You would think that I would be angry, but I knew deep down that it was my mom’s fault. She was careless, and lazy — in the final years of their marriage she hardly ever spent any time at home, and was more interested in going off on fancy holidays with her friends rather than being at home with my stepdad and I, and attempting at being a real family. I wasn’t surprised to learn in my freshman year of college that they were planning on getting a divorce. Nor was I surprised to hear the, in the end, my stepdad took everything.
I didn’t really speak to my mom, we weren’t really close. But I hadn’t spoken to my stepdad either, and I hadn’t once since the divorce. I knew that feelings between us were tense and strange. We had never really gotten along even when he was married to my mom, so I suppose neither of us saw any need to continue some sort of relationship now that they were separated.
This made it all the more awkward when my stepdad called me up, asking for my services as a house maid. I accepted his offer, as he proposed to pay twice as much as my asking price. I think he’d put his prize because he knew I would be apprehensive to take him up on his offer. There was just something so cringe worthy about having to turn up and clean my childhood house from top to bottom, as my stepdad looked on in smug amusement.
But, I needed the cash. So I reluctantly agreed. Plus I thought it might be quite nice to have a look around the house, and see how much it changed in the last few years.
I could see, as I walked towards the house, that not a great deal had. It was still as beautiful as I remember, and it still had that odd sense of home about it to me, strangely. I raised the brass doorknocker, and knocked loudly three times before stepping back and waiting. I tried my best to hold my head high, and keep my shoulders back, but it was clear that I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want my stepdad see me like this.
Nobody answered the door, so I knocked again. I waited patiently, but again nobody came. I was starting to get agitated, so I knocked again. Once again there was no answer and by now I was pretty angry. What if this was all just a big joke? What if he’d told me to come over here, promising me money, just so that he could laugh in my face? It was far-fetched, and I didn’t think it was really my stepdad style, but what if it was true?
I fumbled in my handbag for my mobile phone, determined to call him and find out what the hell was going on. But when I looked at my phone, I noticed that I had an unread text message;
Hey, Klara it’s Jim. I’m out all day, so just let yourself in. The key is in it’s usual spot. Have fun! Xx
How strange! His message was more friendly than I thought it probably should be for a man who was now a stranger to me. And the fact that he had left the key in the old spot, underneath the cushion on the porch swing, filled me with a strange and almost unpleasant sense of nostalgia. But I just shook my head and thought of the money, before grabbing the key and carrying on with my job.
Inside, the house had changed so much from how I remembered it. It was clear that my stepdad had a very minimalistic taste, and it looked like there was barely anything inside. I should have been happy, less ornaments would mean an easier job for me when it came to cleaning the place, but instead I fell oddly deflated. The house had lost its character, and that made me angry.
I set about washing the windows with a scowl on my face, gritting my teeth. It was just typical of my stepdad, to get given something as beautiful as this huge house and turn into something ugly and soulless. I couldn’t believe how much he must have changed, to still be living in this huge house without being all consumed by guilt.
That got me contemplating on my own situation. I couldn’t believe how much I had changed too. I used to be such a driven person, brimming with enthusiasm and ambition. Now I was struggling to make ends meet, polishing and dusting people’s houses for extra cash. My [stepdad](https://storyva.com/stories/stepdad/) must have thought I was a real joke.
I sighed and took up the duster, and began running at around the curtain rail, before starting on the mantelpiece. It was then that something caught my eye. My stepdad’s wallet was resting on the edge of the mantle. I thought it was strange that he would leave the house without it, and considered calling his mobile to let him know. But then an even better idea hit me.
I rushed over and grab the wallet, opening it up and peering inside with eager eyes. Just as I had suspected, it was stuffed full of notes. I counted them quickly, there was around 700 dollars in there! That was more than I would earn for an entire weekend’s work!
I took a moment to consider my options. If I took the money, and left the house without looking back that I would cut off all ties with my stepdad (plus I’d gain the satisfaction of feeling like I’d at lease got one over on him). However, if I cut off all ties with him then I wouldn’t get any repeat business. He was offering to pay me very well, and I really did need the money. But was I actually prepared to swallow my pride like this on a weekly basis? Walking up to the front door to the house had been one of the hardest things I’d had to do in a long time, and I wasn’t sure if I could keep doing it.
I made a split decision, and stuffed the role of notes into my cleavage before putting the wallet back on the mantelpiece. I quickly began to gather my cleaning products, removing my rubber gloves and stuffing them into my apron pocket. I then scurried across the living room floor, towards the front door. That’s when I froze.
The door handle was turning, as if in slow motion, and I heard the sound of a man clearing his throat outside. It was too late to put the money back now. I was going to have to wing it.
“Ah Klara – I thought you’d be here” my stepdad said as the door swung open. His voice was cheery, however his expression was neutral. He stepped inside and removed his coat, hanging it up on the wall as he kicked off his shoes. That was always a stupid rule of his; no shoes in the house. I felt a mini sense of triumph as I realised I was still wearing my own, but that triumph was immediately squashed by a sense of panic. My stepdad’s eyes glanced over to his wallet on the mantelpiece.
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