I told myself it was harmless. I convinced myself it was a way to protect my heart, to finally understand whether the quiet woman who served my home with such care was sincere or merely performing kindness as a role.
The plan took shape over the course of a week. I rehearsed it in my mind as if it were a presentation. I would pretend to collapse. I would lie still. I would appear lifeless. I wanted to see what she would do when there was nothing to gain, no authority watching, no reward waiting.
Would she run. Would she freeze. Would she call for help. Or would she simply step over me and continue cleaning.
The afternoon I chose was ordinary, which I believed made it perfect. The house was quiet. Sunlight poured through the tall windows of the living room. Lena was scheduled to clean the downstairs area.
I lay on the floor near the sofa, controlling my breathing, letting my body go slack. I listened as the front door opened. I heard her remove her shoes, as she always did. I heard the faint sound of her steps and the whisper of the broom against the floor.