Eunice’s mornings had become a relentless clash against time. The once peaceful dawn that used to greet her with a soft cuddle from her husband and hum of birds was now a herald of exhaustion.
Every day, at the unholy hour of 3:am, her alarm would pierce the stillness, wrenching her from the few hours of sleep she managed to seize. She would stumble out of bed, her bones aching from weariness, and begin her daily ritual of penance (a penance she never deserved).
The house was large, too large for one person to maintain, but that didn’t matter to Agyekum. He no longer cared. The three bedrooms, each with their carefully chosen drapes and polished furniture, needed to be swept and mopped to perfection. The guest room, though rarely used, was no exception.
The cold tiles seemed to tease her as she swept away invisible dust, knowing she would soon return with a mop to banish the remaining grime.
Eunice would drag the mop across the cold tiles, her mind wandering to what her life had become.
The balcony, a place she once loved for its view of the sunrise, now seemed a vast immensity of endless work. She’d sweep the dust away, though it always seemed to find its way back by the next morning.
As she moved to the hall, her hands shook, not from the labour, but from the betrayal.
The hall, with its plush couches and coffee table, was expansive.
The center of the home was where they entertained guests and their children played. The sight of it used to fill her with honour; now, it was just another reminder of her endless to-do list.
The family area, filled with the remnants of the children’s toys and Agyekum’s forgotten newspapers, was a constant reminder of the support she no longer had.
Agyekum never lifted a finger to help. He barely acknowledged her presence, except to complain if something wasn’t done to his liking. He was a man transformed, or perhaps, she thought bitterly, he had always been this way, and Serwaa’s presence had simply unveiled the truth.
By the time Eunice was done, her back ached, and her hands felt numb. But there was no time to rest.
She would drag herself to the kitchen after hours of cleaning. Breakfast had to be made; three meals for three children, each with their own preferences.
The smell of eggs frying did nothing to lift her mood. She could already hear the children stirring in their rooms. It was a race against the clock, her hands moving on default mode, preparing food she barely had the strength to cook.
Then came the children’s bath time, their laughter and playfulness, a stark contrast to her inner turmoil. She loved them, but the burden was too much for one person to bear. She had to dress them and get them to school. There was no time to breathe, no time to think.
The children were a whirlwind of energy, blissfully unaware of the cracks forming in their mother’s world.
Agyekum used to help. Before Serwaa came into their lives, there was a semblance of partnership. They shared the chores, laughed together, and the house was home. But now, he sat back, indifferent to the chaos around him, indifferent to her plight. He had traded his warmth for coldness, his support for scorn.
The mornings dragged into workdays, and Eunice was always late. The road to the Women’s bank, where she worked was a dim of anxiety, her mind discolored with the endless list of tasks still left undone. Her job, once a source of dignity, was now a looming threat.
The HR manager’s eyes followed her every move, the weight of unspoken judgment hanging in the air. Every query was a dagger to her heart, each one bringing her closer to the edge of despair.
The day she was sacked was no different from the others, except for the finality it carried.
The HR manager’s voice was cold and final when she handed Eunice the letter. The words fogged before her eyes as the reality of her situation sank in. She had been late too many times.
The Women’s Bank had no place for someone who couldn’t manage their own time, no matter the reason. She was instructed to return all the bank’s documents, every piece of paraphernalia that marked her years of service.
She stood there, numb!
The bank’s paraphernalia that had once been symbols of her success were now just remnants of her past life.
She drove home in a stupor, the tears coming only when she crossed the threshold of her house. The house she had laboured to keep pristine, the house that had become her prison. The house greeted her with the silence she had come to dread.
Agyekum was there, lounging as if the world hadn’t just collapsed around her.
With the sacked letter crumpled in her fists, through sobs, she told him what had happened, hoping for a shred of compassion. Instead, he turned to her, his voice laced with irritation. “Kwadwofoɔ baa”(Lazy woman) he spat, the word cutting through her like a knife. “You’re lazy and non-serious. You had one job, Eunice, and you couldn’t even keep that.”
Eunice was left standing in the ruins of her life, the weight of her exhaustion pressing down on her until she could barely breathe.
At that moment, she realized that it wasn’t just the job she had lost but everything that had ever mattered.
…Watch out for Part 6
By Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Nana Ama Asantewaa Kwarko offers a wide range of writing services, including:
– Speech writing
– Political writing
– Sloganeering
– Screenwriting
– Playwriting
– Poetry
– Proofreading
– Biographies
– Editing
– Ghostwriting
- Technical writing
– Advertising/Marketing writing
– E-books
- Brand writing
- Press releases
– Obituaries
– Newsletters
Contact information:
📞 +233244933893
📧 N.kwarko@yahoo.com