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Throwing back the now lukewarm tea in one gulp, I empty my cup before standing from the chair, and walking past the kitchen island. Apparently, I’m not allowed to use the kitchen stools anymore for I might fall from the two and a half foot high stool and hurt myself all because the skirt of my dress got tangled with the legs of the stool I was sitting on last week, causing me to trip and bump my hip a little against the island.

I didn’t even try to argue that I’m not that accident prone, I should just be glad it didn’t get me banned from the kitchen again.

Just as I’m about to place the cup in the sink, Laura appears from somewhere and relieves me of it. “Let me help you Ms. Lola,” she says.

I don’t try to tell her it is just a cup and I can rinse and put it away myself. It’ll just fall on deaf ears like every other complaint I've made in the past month.

Also because Maria will give them a hard time when discovered, and she always finds out somehow, if I didn't know better I'd