Her name was Efe. Just 22. We hired her from my husband’s village after she lost her mother.
She called me “Aunty,” always knelt to greet me, and acted humble. But behind that fake humility was a wicked plan I never saw coming.
Within 3 months of living with us, my husband started changing. He stopped eating my food. Started defending Efe like she was his sister. Sometimes, I would hear him laughing with her deep into the night.
One day, I entered the kitchen and saw her mixing ashes, salt, and red oil. When I asked what she was doing, she said, “It’s for stew.” I didn’t know she was. Click here immediately to access all the details in the complete article!
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