The Calculated Nannys Perfect Revenge

The first time I asked for a week off, I prepped the trash can with seven fresh liners before I left.
Seven bags. I figured it would last exactly until the day I returned.
When I got back, though, my own suitcase was sitting outside the front door.
Blair Harrington was standing on the steps, arms crossed. "We can't afford a housekeeper who calculates every move, Jenna."
1
After I confirmed the week of leave with Mrs. HarringtonBlairI started my usual final sweep.
The hardwood floors were buffed until they reflected the overhead lighting. Every piece of decorative furniture was perfectly aligned.
Leos textbooks, stationery, and next season's clothes were all organized neatly at the foot of his bed.
Finally, I made my way to the kitchen and started on the trash can.
I knew Blairs particular neuroses. She was obsessively cleanno overnight trash allowed. But she absolutely hated dealing with the liners, convinced they were unsanitary.
I pulled out a fresh liner, carefully opened it, and secured it over the rim. Then another. Then another.
I stopped at seven.
One bag per day, exactly enough until my return. This way, for the next seven days, all shed have to do was pull out the full bag. A clean, new one would always be waiting underneath.
I finished the task and spoke quietly at the entryway. Blair, everything is squared away. Ill be back next week.
That week back home felt impossibly long.
Id wake up before dawn, worrying that Leo hadnt had breakfast yet. Hearing the faucet run, Id remember the patio plants needed watering. When I finally closed my eyes at night, I could feel the invisible dust I hadnt reached yet.
I was restless, aching to get back to my routine.
I bought the earliest train ticket available. The scenery outside the window was stunninglike a postcard of the Shenandoah Valleybut I barely registered it.
Instead, I mentally inventoried Leos uniforms, thinking they needed pressing. I reminded myself to rotate the ficus in Blairs study to catch the morning sun.
As the train pulled into the station, I pulled out my phone and texted Blair.
Blair, Im almost there. Hows Leos appetite been? Should I make that heritage chicken soup tonight?
I carried the treasures Id brought back: a genuine free-range chicken from my familys farmthe kind that always made Leo recover faster after a bug. My dads specialty coffee beans that Mr. Harrington always raved about. And my mothers homemade apple butter, which Blair loved.
She didn't text back on the ride home. I figured she was busy, or maybe helping Leo with homework.
It wasnt until the taxi pulled up that I saw her, standing near the front steps, throwing things toward the driveway.
2
I rushed out, dropping my bags and the box of preserves. Blair, Im back. Dont worry about that, Ill take care of the trash.
I started to walk past her, but then I stopped, realizing what she was holding.
It was my worn, canvas duffel bag.
I looked at the pile on the curb. Everything was mine. My duvet, the travel mug I drank from, my toiletries. All cleared out of the small room Id occupied for a decade.
My heart started to pound. I looked up, a surge of anger tightening my chest. Are these my things? Why are they out here?
It was then I took in her face. Normally poised and soft, it was now a mask of frigid indifference.
What happened? Is the house being renovated? I asked, utterly confused.
Before I could finish, she let out a frustrated sigh and hurled my duffel bag onto the pile, like tossing out garbage.
She folded her arms again, her voice low and sterile. Jenna, youve been with us since you graduated college, haven't you? This is your tenth year.
I nodded slowly, dumbfounded. Thats right, Blair. I came straight here.
A cold smile touched her lips. And for ten years, youve been excellent. Never missed a day. You were truly meticulous with Leo.
The momentary relief that washed over me was instantly obliterated by her next sentence, which landed like a physical blow.
But Jenna, we dont need a calculated housekeeper in this house.
I was completely blindsided. Calculated? Blair, what are you talking about?
I fought to keep my voice steady, desperate to defend myself.
Ive never stolen anything, Ive never padded an expense report. What exactly have I calculated?
I met her cool, assessing gaze, my chest heaving. The sheer unfairness of it all was overwhelming. Blair, Im going to be frank. I have no idea what I did.
Blair inhaled sharply. Before you left, did you or did you not line the kitchen bin with seven or eight new trash bags? I went to pull the top one yesterday, and hallelujah, I found a whole chain underneath!
I nodded, the realization sinking in. Yes. I know you hate touching the dirty liners, so I set it up for one a day, right until I got back. Is that a problem?
Her voice ratcheted up, edged with indignation. I know you thought it was helpful, one a day. But is that how you live? Its wasteful!
Richard Harrington walked up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder. Its true, Jenna. We teach Leo about being resourceful, making things last. You came here and lined the bin with a weeks worth of bags. Thats not being thoughtful, thats being extravagant. Youre setting a bad example for our child.
Blair picked up the thread, her voice turning completely detached. So, weve decided. A housekeeper and an employer are fundamentally not family. We dont share the same values. Your method is certainly caring, but were tired. Well pay you through the end of the month, plus an extra two weeks severance. You need to find a new placement. See who else can handle your kind of care.
3
I stood frozen. Was that it? Providing a small, thoughtful convenience was a firing offense?
Looking at the profound disapproval on Blairs face, a wave of helplessness crashed over me. Maybe our principles truly were incompatible.
I took a deep breath, trying one last time to salvage it. Blair, please. How about this? Everything I do, Ill clear with you first. You approve it, and then I do it.
Are you trying to cling to this job? Blairs brows knitted tighter.
I said our values are misaligned. Do you understand what that means?
She turned toward the door.
Watching her back, the memory of the last decade flooded me, and a bitter ache rose in my throat.
I took a desperate half-step toward her, my voice trembling. But Blair, Ive been here since I graduated. Ten years. Does that count for nothing?
The floodgates opened. The raw injustice spilled out. My degree was in PR, but you begged me to stay after that one cleaning gig. You said you loved how meticulous I was, and I gave up a corporate offer for you! And now, because of a few trash bagsbags I set out to help youyou throw me out?
Blair whirled around, her eyes blazing. What is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to threaten me? Yes, I hired you, but your legs work fine. No one chained you to this job!
Her words extinguished the last ember of my fighting spirit.
I had the offera decent starting salary in a downtown firm. But Blair's relentless pleasJust help me out, I dont trust anyone else, We need you, Jennahad won out.
Seeing the devastation on my face, Blairs tone softened slightly, but the message remained the same. We cant keep you here just for sentiment. It wouldnt be fair to us, and it wouldnt be fair to you. Were not a good fit anymore.
I stood there, surrounded by my belongings, my feet planted on the same manicured lawn Id walked across for ten years.
From inside the closed door, I heard Blairs muffled voice to Richard: Its too calculated. She had to organize those few trash bags for you down to the minute. You cant trust someone like that in your home.
I looked down at the box of home-grown chicken, coffee beans, and jams at my feet. I could almost hear my parents' voices from yesterday.
Jenna, you work hard for them. Mr. and Mrs. Harrington are good people, you make sure to show your gratitude!
I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. Sentiment. Gratitude. It was only me who valued it. To them, it meant nothing.
I stared at the closed mahogany door, gritted my teeth, and crouched down to gather the things they had discarded.
I rolled up the duvet, shoved the toiletries into a plastic bag, and packed everything back into the duffel.
Then the thought hit me. Ten years of my life, packed and organized, required only one suitcase, a backpack, and a bedroll.
It was terrifyingly light. Just like me.
I tossed the non-essentials into the curb-side pile of garbage.
Then I picked up the duffel, shouldered the bedroll, and walked away without a backward glance.
The neighborhood was the same, perfectly manicured, but standing on the sidewalk, I had no idea where to go.
For ten years, my world had been the organic market, the Harrington house, Leos school, and the local upscale grocery. Outside of that, there was a gaping void.
The college degree, the PR knowledge, it had all been replaced by recipes and cleaning schedules.
I was only in my early thirtiesyoung for this line of work. But who would hire a former housekeeper who was ten years out of date for a corporate job? My resume was a wasteland.
To the next family, I would just be another under-qualified hire.
Panic, cold and suffocating, washed over me.
The last of my resolve finally crumbled. Why? What had I done wrong? For ten years, I treated that house like a second home. I did what I was hired for, and often, much more.
And all I got was an explanation of "misaligned values," before being tossed out like trash.
Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and unexpected. I stumbled forward, towing the duffel bag, my vision blurred.
I walked until I bumped into someone.
4
I raised my wet, blurry face.
Standing in front of me was Michelle Lindstrom, who lived a few blocks over.
Id seen her several times, usually with her shy, quiet daughter, Willa, in the neighborhood park.
Id overheard the gossip: Divorced, tough bringing up a kid alone. The nastier whispers implied she was the "other woman." I never paid much attention, and I certainly didnt think she would remember me.
I quickly looked down, wiping my face with my sleeve, trying to slip past. Excuse me.
But she didnt move.
Youre Jenna, right?
I looked up, surprised.
Her eyes were calm, not prying. She was simply looking at me.
She held out a tissue.
She bit her lip, looking slightly embarrassed. I saw it, she said quietly.
I saw them put your things out on the curb. And I saw you talking to them.
She studied my emotional state carefully. I wasnt eavesdropping, I was just passing by.
I didn't know her well, and I didnt want to talk. But under her steady gaze, my carefully constructed composure instantly dissolved.
I opened my mouth, intending to speak.

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