“Pity me for what?”
The smile that appeared on her face made me uncomfortable.
Very uncomfortable.
It wasn’t a mischievous smile.
It wasn’t a seductive smile.
It was the smile of someone who knows something you don’t want them to know.
She lowered her voice — even though there was no one else in the house.
“Because madam no dey allow you enjoy yourself.”
The blood drained from my face.
How did she know that?
How much had she heard?
Had she been standing outside our bedroom at night? Listening through the walls like a spy?
