Helen had worked in the big house for almost five years, quietly keeping the silver polished, the shirts crisp, and the kitchen warm with the smell of fresh bread. But one morning, with her apron still dusted in flour, she cleared her throat and asked,

“Madam, I’d like to request a raise.”The lady of the house set down her teacup, amused. “A raise? And why do you think you deserve one, Helen?”Helen smoothed her apron and spoke with surprising confidence. “Three reasons, ma’am. The first is that I iron better than you.”

The lady arched an eyebrow. “Who told you that?”“Your husband,” Helen replied without hesitation.The porcelain cup clinked against its saucer. “Oh.”Helen continued, “The second reason is that I cook better than you.”“And who told you that?”Your husband again, ma’am.”

The lady shifted in her chair, color rising in her cheeks. “Oh…”Helen folded her arms. “And the third reason is that I am better in bed than you.”There was a sharp silence. The lady’s eyes narrowed. “And did my husband say that as well?”Helen gave a small, sly smile. “No, ma’am. The gardener did.”