THIS RICH WOMAN HIRES A MAID WITHOUT KNOWING THAT IT IS HER OWN DAUGHTER

She got annoyed more quickly, spoke less. She had the impression that something was changing in her house. She called in a doctor. He found nothing. She even had the house purified by an old woman who burned leaves and recited incantations. But nothing changed. Until the day when, while tidying a wardrobe in her own room, she found a small leather box she had not touched in years. She opened it without thinking.

Inside, a baby bonnet, a string bracelet, and a torn photograph. The memory of another time. She put everything back down with a quick gesture, but her heart was pounding. Why did Awa’s face always come back to her when she looked at that photograph? She told no one. But that night, she dreamed of a baby in her arms, of a cradle she was abandoning, and of a promise she had pretended to forget.

And meanwhile, Hawa in her windowless room held her necklace between her fingers. She did not know why, but she felt that something was drawing near, something important. The days became heavier, not because of the work. That, Awa did with almost invisible precision.

Sometimes, she had the impression that her name echoed in the silences as if it had already been spoken there long ago by someone she did not know. One Saturday morning, the cleaning woman, Jenabou, fell ill and was sent to rest. Madame Kan, who disliked having her schedule disrupted, ordered Hawa to take care of the private salon herself, that forbidden place where she received her privileged clients for beauty advice or discreet appointments.

The marble floor there was cold, the mirrors lined with gold trim, and the luxury perfumes were lined up like precious soldiers. Awa cleaned in silence, focused, when an unexpected client arrived without warning. A woman of a certain age, well dressed, gloved to the elbows, with a soft but confident voice.

“Is Kanny here?” she asked. “I’ll go get her, madam.” “No, wait. You there, are you new?” “Yes, madam. What is your name?” “Awa.” The woman paused. Her gaze lingered a second too long on Awa’s face. Awa, a pretty name. Where do you come from? From the village of Ségou. Ségou? murmured the lady, narrowing her eyes.

I know that region well. I went there a long time ago, a very long time ago. How long have you been living here? A few weeks. She smiled, but there was something worried in that smile. You remind me of someone I knew once. A beautiful woman, very proud, but very alone.