Mira chose her moment carefully
a quiet afternoon, the kind where the house felt half-asleep and everyone's guard was down.
She appeared in Ela's doorway holding a folded set of clothes.
Not new.
Not hers.
Old clothes belonging to the other maid faded, worn, smelling faintly of detergent and someone else's life.
"Mom said these are for you," Mira announced sweetly, placing them on Ela's bed.
"Wear them. She thinks they'll look good on you."
The insult was sharp, disguised as kindness.
Ela's throat tightened.
"These… aren't mine," she whispered. "Why would she?"
Mira smiled with that same practiced softness.
"Just do as she said."
But Ela knew something was wrong.
She went to her mother, holding the clothes with trembling hands.
"Mom… did you tell her to give me these? These aren't mine."
Her mother looked up sharply.
"What are you talking about?"
"Mira said''
And that was all it took.
Her mother's face twisted with anger, the kind Ela had never seen directed at her with such raw force.
"You're accusing her now? After everything she does in this house?"
Before Ela could defend herself
before she could even breathe
the first blow landed.
A punch to her back.
Then another.
Then another.
Each strike came with words spat out like venom.
"Ungrateful girl."
"Always causing trouble."
"You think I'm lying?"
Ela stumbled, gasping, but her mother grabbed her again
fingers harsh, nails digging.
She tried to split Ela's mouth with the side of her hand,
a slap angled like it was meant to tear skin rather than just hit.
Then her mother's hands wrapped around Ela's throat.
Not loose.
Not accidental.
Tight.
Tight enough that Ela's vision blurred at the edges.
She clawed at her mother's wrists, trying to pull them away, but the grip only tightened, squeezing her windpipe, turning her breaths into strangled, broken sounds.
And through the haze
through the suffocating panic
Ela saw movement at the doorway.
Mira.
Leaning slightly against the wall.
A hand over her mouth.
Shoulders shaking.
Not with shock.
Not with worry.
With laughter.
Silent, delighted laughter.
Mouth to mouth, curved in triumph.
Just when Ela felt her knees giving way, her father burst into the room, shouting, pulling his wife back, prying her hands off Ela's throat.
Ela collapsed to the floor, coughing, clutching her neck, shaking so violently she could hardly stay upright.
Her father kept yelling words blurred, furious but her mother wasn't listening.
She was already turning to Mira.
And Mira…
Mira only straightened, fixed her dupatta, and gave her that demure, innocent smile.
As if she hadn't just watched a family tear itself apart.
As if she hadn't caused it.
As if she hadn't enjoyed every second of it.