Chapter 2

The next day was Saturday.

I had planned to sleep in, but Doris kicked my door so hard that it rattled on its hinges.

"Get up! What time do you think it is?!"

Groggy, I opened my eyes and reached for my phone.

7:10 a.m.

The rude awakening lit a fire of irritation in my chest. The thudding continued outside. I sat up and kicked off the blanket.

I rubbed my temples and opened the door.

She kicked me straight in the knee.

A sharp pain shot through my leg, my face went pale, and I doubled over.

Seeing the door open, she scoffed and walked away.

"Don't even say a word when you open the door. Who told you to lock it anyway? Serves you right!"

I was sweating from the pain, too weak to respond.

After a few minutes of catching my breath, I managed to stumble to the dining table.

There was a single bowl of cereal on it.

Since I was already up, I figured I might as well eat something.

Doris sat across from me, eyes locked on my every move.

The moment I took a spoonful, I knew something was off.

Remembering what she'd done the day before, I couldn't help but ask.

"Doris, is this bowl of cereal even okay to eat?"

Did she put poison in the cereal or something?

She shot me a glare, clearly offended. "What kind of person do you think I am? Don't go around slandering me like that!"

In my head, I thought, "You are exactly that kind of person."

I didn't believe her.

I needed to check the kitchen.

She tried to stop me at first, grabbing and pinching me with those claw-like hands, like she wanted to tear the flesh off my arms.

The pain brought tears to my eyes, but I still pushed my way into the kitchen.

The moment I opened the door, I froze.

I saw a bag of laundry detergent placed right next to the cereal packet.

My stomach turned. I clamped a hand over my mouth and rushed to the sink, dry heaving uncontrollably.

Behind me, Doris spoke as if she were perfectly reasonable. "I mistook the bag of cereal for the bag of laundry detergent. Do you have to make a fuss over this? You're really overreacting…"

I was fuming.

Looking at her smug face, I wanted nothing more than to slap it.

But then I thought of Jack, my husband, supposedly killed in the line of duty.

I dug my nails into my palms.

I held back.

Trying to stay calm, I explained patiently, "Doris, you can't mix food with cleaning products. This kind of thing can land someone in the hospital."

But she just waved it off.

"Back in my day, we didn't fuss over stuff like that. Nobody died from it…"

She rolled her eyes and pulled a tissue from her pocket, handing it to me.

"I'm sorry, okay? Here, wipe your mouth. You look like a mess."

I forced myself to let it go. I took the tissue, trying to move on.

But the moment I saw what I was holding, I nearly threw up again.

"Doris… What is this?"

I unfolded it. The brownish-yellow stains and foul smell made my skin crawl.

She didn't even flinch. "Oh, that? I used it to wipe after going to the bathroom."

My vision went black for a second. I flung it into the trash, horrified.

"You used that to wipe yourself and gave it to me to wipe my mouth?!"

She looked hurt, watching me throw it away. Slapping the back of my hand, she scolded, "You could've just folded it! It's still good! Why are you so wasteful?"

I let out a bitter laugh, my anger bubbling to the surface.

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, Doris muttered, "Such a wasteful woman…"

After just one month living with her, I knew—we were completely incompatible.

Her idea of frugality was beyond anything I could imagine.

That evening after work, I came home to find her fiddling with the kitchen fan.

Curious, I stepped closer.

She was collecting grease from the exhaust vent.