# Chapter 28: The Garbage, The Wary Eyes, and The Rising Tension
Hello everyone, it’s me again! How are you all doing? I hope you’re ready for another deep dive into this tangled, breathless world of secrets and survival. Today, I’ll guide you through Chapter 28 of *The Housemaid* — a chapter that feels like a quiet calm after a storm, yet leaves you with the nagging feeling that the darkest clouds are still gathering just beyond the horizon. Let’s walk through it together.
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The drive back to the Island is strangely silent. Andrew and I barely exchange a word, filling the car with nothing but the DJ’s mindless chatter that crackles from the radio like a harmless distraction. It’s almost laughable, really. A man who just spent the night wrapped up in the arms of his housemaid, driving her home as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. He mentions a meeting later in the city, and I realize he’s going to have to turn right back around the moment we get home. But I know better than to think this trip is purely for my sake. He’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday — a suit now wrinkled, a little weary. He needs to change. He needs to pretend he has a life that makes sense.
“Almost back,” he mumbles, sliding off the Long Island Expressway. His sunglasses sit low on his nose, hiding whatever is brewing behind those tired eyes. I can’t read a single thing on his face.
“Great,” I say, tugging at the hem of my dress for what feels like the hundredth time. This damn dress. The one that started all our problems. The one that put a spark in Andrew’s gaze and a crack in the illusion of my perfect, invisible existence. I adjust it again, and even with the shades, I catch him looking. I raise my eyebrows at him. He gives me a sheepish grin. “One more for the road,” he murmurs, and I feel that dangerous little flutter in my chest that I have no business feeling.
But then, as we wind through a residential block and Andrew swerves around a bulky garbage truck, a horrible thought strikes me like a chill down my spine.
“Andrew,” I hiss, my voice suddenly sharp. “I never put out the garbage last night!”
“Oh...” He says it so casually, as if we were talking about a forgotten umbrella.
I need to make him understand the gravity of this. “Nina specifically texted me to put out the trash last night. I never did it because I wasn’t home. I’ve never forgotten before. If she finds out...” My words hang in the air, heavy and sour.
He pulls off his sunglasses, and I finally see it — the bloodshot white of his eyes, the weariness of a man who’s been burning the candle at both ends. “Shit. Do you still have time to do it?”
I glance back at the garbage truck now moving in the opposite direction, further and further from Andrew’s house. “I doubt it. I think it’s too late. They come really early.”
“You could just say you forgot, right?” He sounds hopeful, almost pathetic.
“You think Nina will buy that?” I challenge, knowing full well that Nina doesn’t buy anything but perfect obedience.
“Shit,” he says again, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel like he’s trying to drum up a solution. “Okay, I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”
I want to believe him. I really do. But the only way to take care of it is to haul every last trash bag to the dump yourself. My Nissan’s trunk is absurdly small, and even if I made multiple trips, I’m not even sure where the dump is located. So I hold my breath and hope Andrew means every word.
When we pull up to the house, the gate swings open at the press of a button. And there, in the middle of the yard like a statue of quiet judgment, is Enzo. The landscaper. The man with the walnut-dark skin and the eyes that see too much.
He jerks his head up as the BMW rolls down the driveway. It’s the wrong time of day for the car to be arriving — it should be leaving. I know his surprise is warranted. I should have ducked down. I should have hidden. But it’s too late.
Enzo pauses mid-task, his dark gaze locking straight onto mine. And then, as if he’s reminding me of something I already fear, he shakes his head. Just like he did on my very first day. Slow. Deliberate. A warning without words.
Damn it.
Andrew notices him too, but instead of tensing up, he waves like it’s completely normal to be dropping off at 9:30 in the morning with a woman who is not his wife. He parks in front of the garage and throws the gear into park.
“Let me see if Enzo can take care of the trash,” he says, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
I want to beg him not to ask. I want to grab his sleeve and pull him back inside. But before my mouth can form the words, he’s already out, leaving the door ajar.
Enzo steps back as if he doesn’t want to have this conversation at all. His posture is guarded, unwelcoming.
“Ciao, Enzo.” Andrew flashes a broad smile that makes him look so handsome it aches. I close my eyes for a moment, shivering at the memory of his hands on my body from last night. “I need your help.”
Enzo says nothing. He just stares, unmoving, unblinking.
“We have a problem with the garbage.” Andrew gestures toward the four stuffed trash bags sitting beside the house like ugly little evidence of our secret. “We forgot to put them out last night for the garbagemen. Do you think you could bring them out to the dump for us in your truck? I’ll give you fifty bucks.”
Enzo’s eyes flick toward the bags, then back to Andrew. Still silent.
“Garbage...” Andrew repeats, slower, as if volume will help a language barrier that might not even exist. “To... dump. Garbage dump. Capisci?”
Enzo shakes his head. A refusal. A wall.
Andrew grits his teeth and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Get rid of the garbage for us. I’ll give you...” He digs through the bills. “One hundred dollars.” He fans the money out in front of Enzo’s face like bait. “Get rid of garbage. You have a truck. Take it to the garbage dump.”
Finally, Enzo speaks, his voice flat and unapologetic: “No. I busy.”
“Right, but this is our yard and...” Andrew lets out a frustrated sigh, then goes back into the wallet. “Two hundred dollars. One trip to the garbage dump. Help me out. Please.”
I hold my breath, waiting for another refusal. But then, slowly, Enzo reaches out and takes the bills from Andrew’s hand. Without a word, he walks to the side of the house and grabs the garbage bags, hauling all of them at once. I can see the muscles in his biceps bulge against the tight sleeve of his white T-shirt. He’s impossibly strong. He could crush any man in this neighborhood, including Andrew.
“Right,” Andrew says, a note of forced authority in his voice. “To the dump.”
Enzo just stares at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he brushes past Andrew, throws the bags into the back of his truck, climbs in, and takes off without another word. I guess he got the message.
Andrew strides back to the car, sliding into the driver's seat with a satisfied smirk. “Well, that’s taken care of. But sheesh, what an asshole.”
“I didn’t think he understood you,” I say, careful to keep my voice even.
“Yeah, right.” He rolls his eyes. “He understands more than he lets on. He was just holding out for more money.”
I agree that Enzo didn’t seem eager to take out the garbage. But I don’t think it was about money. There’s something else in his eyes, something guarded and wary. Something that doesn’t want to be in Andrew and Nina’s orbit at all.
“I don’t like that guy,” Andrew grumbles. “He works on all the houses in the neighborhood, but he spends a third of his time in our yard. He’s always out there. I don’t even know what the hell he’s doing half the time.”
“You do have the biggest house on the block,” I point out. “And the biggest lawn.”
“Right, but...” Andrew stares at Enzo’s truck, now a small shape disappearing down the street. “I don’t know. I told Nina to get rid of him and hire somebody else, but she says everybody uses him and he’s apparently ‘the best.’”
Of course, Enzo isn’t my favorite person ever since he not-so-subtly rejected me. But that’s not why he makes me so uncomfortable. I can’t shake the memory of the way he hissed the Italian word for “danger” at me on my very first day here. The way he looked terrified to defy Nina, even though his hands could crush her like paper. Does Andrew have any clue how wary Enzo is of his wife?
Well, I’m not going to be the one to tell him.
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There’s something deeply unsettling about this chapter. It’s not the dramatic climax we’ve been building toward, but rather the quiet, tense space before one. Watching Andrew and Millie pretend a night of indiscretion is normal, while Enzo’s silent disapproval lingers over everything like a storm cloud, is masterfully crafted. I felt every ounce of Millie’s anxiety about the trash, her breathless worry about Nina’s reaction, and her growing dread that Enzo knows more than he lets on. The small detail of Andrew’s bloodshot eyes and wrinkled suit reminded me how fragile this deception is — how even the victors of the night are crumbling under exhaustion. This chapter is a chilling reminder that in this house, nothing goes unnoticed, and even the smallest forgotten chore can unravel everything. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 4.8 / 5 Stars.
What will happen next? With the garbage problem "handled," but Enzo now burdened with a secret and a bribe, I predict the cracks in this facade will widen. Enzo’s loyalties are in question — is he just a silent observer, or will he eventually speak to Nina? And as Andrew grows more reckless, spending nights out and buying silence, I suspect Nina is not as oblivious as everyone thinks. The next chapter might bring her closer to discovering the truth, and Enzo might be the one who gets caught in the crossfire. Prepare for a betrayal, a confession, or a sudden act of violence that will change everything in the Winchester household.
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