The Wrong Woman

The first rays of morning sunlight seeped through the window, painting the room with a gentle glow.

Mila was still in slumber when she heard the door creak open. Startled awake, she slowly rose, her gaze landing on an unexpected visitor.

Fenna stood at the doorway; her initial surprise quickly clouded with dismay. "Why are you sleeping in Nate's room?" she snapped.

Mila clenched her fists slowly, her irritation mounting as Fenna's intrusion disrupted the peace of the early morning. She wondered why Fenna would know the passcode to Nathan's room.

"Why shouldn't I stay in my husband's room?" Mila retorted, her tone tinged with annoyance.

With a grim expression, Fenna rushed into the bathroom, grabbing a cloth and setting to work on the chair and cabinet surfaces.

Mila watched her with confusion. "What's going on?" she asked, puzzled.

hint of sarcasm in her voice. "You don't know how to clean,

her frustration, Mila

superiority as she looked down at Mila. "Wanda, I'm Nate's assistant. For the past six months, I've attended to every aspect of

further. "What?" she

have you done other than causing him trouble? Have you ever cooked him a meal or done his laundry? Or

useless. All you know is to be jealous and stir up trouble in our friendship." Mila felt a pang in her stomach, gritting

her upbringing

that she wasn't destined to be a housewife. Everyone had their strengths

"I am his wife, not his maid. Why

you married him, these

a wife must cook, do laundry, serve, and clean?" With disdain etched on her face, Fenna continued scrubbing the table. "I don't understand

a twinge of discomfort at Fenna's remark. She couldn't understand why Fenna, who was of her generation in this modern era, would cling to such