The house that wasn't mine.

I hate cleaning. I always have. The dust, the laundry, the endless wiping and sorting ' it all makes me feel like I'm disappearing into the job. So I found a woman through a neighbour and paid her to come every weekday morning while my husband was at work and the kids were at school. She cleaned everything. Floors, beds, dishes, cupboards. By three o'clock she was gone and the house looked like magic had happened. My family thinks I keep everything running. They praise my 'effort.' I smile and accept it. No one knows the truth. Not even my closest friends. Some days I feel clever. Other days I feel like a fraud living inside a tidy lie.