For months, I worked quietly in the home of a wealthy woman named Margaret. She was kind, respectful, and even let me use her personal library. But her daughter, Tris, was another story. Tris, nearly 50, lived in Margaret’s house and treated me like dirt — barking orders, belittling me in front of her friends, and always reminding me I was “just the help.” One evening, Tris hosted a dinner with her high-society friends. I served them silently as they laughed, gossiped, and made cruel jokes — including some about me.
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