The Housemaid

Millie is at rock bottom. She got out of prison on parole, lost her job, sleeps in her car, and knows that with her criminal record almost nobody will hire her. As a teenager, she killed a boy who was trying to rape a friend, and she paid for it with years behind bars.

So when she lands an interview to work as a live-in housemaid in a huge house in a wealthy Long Island community, she doesn't think twice. A roof, a paycheck, and a chance to start over: it's everything she's asking for.

Anyone who has job-hunted with a bad record or a big gap on their résumé understands the size of that relief. And that relief is exactly what makes Millie willing to swallow a lot of strange things in the first few days.

The Winchester family looks like it stepped out of an ad: Nina, the wife, Andrew, the rich and handsome husband, and Cecelia, the little daughter. The house is flawless on the outside, and Millie is hired without the lady of the house seeming to care about her past.

The room set aside for Millie is in the attic. It's cramped and hot, with a tiny window that doesn't open properly and one detail that bothers her from the first night: the lock is on the outside of the door. Whoever is inside can't get out if someone locks it.

Millie finds it odd but lets it go. She needs the job. The reader, though, already feels that pit in the stomach you get watching the horror-movie character head down to the basement alone.

At the interview, Nina was sweet as pie. After Millie starts, she turns into someone else. She messes up the kitchen right after it's been cleaned, accuses the maid of throwing away papers that she herself made disappear, changes orders in the middle of the day, and explodes over anything.

The neighbors and the moms at school mention that Nina has been in a psychiatric hospital before. Cecelia is spoiled and cold. And Andrew apologizes for his wife, always patiently, like someone caring for a sick person.

Millie starts counting the days until she can save up some money and leave. At the same time, she feels sorry for the husband, who seems to carry alone the weight of an unstable household.

Everything in this part is told through Millie's eyes, and that's decisive. We only know what she sees and what she assumes. Each of Nina's humiliations arrives without context, and each of Andrew's gestures arrives with the relief of someone who has finally found an ally. It's the kind of narration that invites the reader to jump to conclusions.