# Chapter 31: The Grocery Store Trap
Hello everyone, it's me again! How are you all doing? Today I will continue to walk with you and review Chapter 31 of "The Housemaid" — and let me tell you, this chapter is a masterclass in psychological torment, domestic warfare, and the creeping dread of being hunted in broad daylight. Buckle up, because we're about to push a shopping cart through pure hell.
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If you thought Nina's cruelty had reached its peak, think again. She has now elevated torment into a fine art form, and her canvas is a mundane trip to the grocery store. The woman has written out a shopping list that reads less like household needs and more like a torture manual. She doesn't want milk — oh no, that would be far too simple. She wants *organic milk from Queensland Farm*. And if the store doesn't have the exact item she demands? Then I have to text her, send her pictures of alternatives, and stand there like an obedient soldier waiting for her command. And she takes her sweet, agonizing time texting me back while I rot in the middle of the bread aisle, staring at loaves like they hold the secrets to the universe.
Right now, I'm standing in that very aisle, snapping photographs of sourdough bread like some kind of amateur food photographer. Nantucket sourdough? Out of stock. I send her every possible replacement my phone can capture. Minutes tick by. Finally, her reply comes: *Do they have any brioche?*
Are you kidding me?
So now I'm photographing brioche. Every single goddamn brioche loaf in the store. I swear to God, I'm going to blow my brains out before this shopping trip even ends. She's deliberately torturing me. That's the only explanation. But then again... I did sleep with her husband. So maybe I deserve a little of this. Just a little.
As I'm snapping away at baked goods, I notice him. A heavyset man with gray hair, standing at the other end of the aisle, staring at me. And I don't mean a casual glance. I mean full-on, unblinking, creepy surveillance. He's not even trying to hide it. I shoot him a look that says *back off*, and fortunately, he does. Because the last thing I need on top of Nina's domestic terrorism is a stalker.
But as the minutes drag on, my mind drifts. And it always drifts to the same place: Andrew Winchester. After Nina dropped that bomb about my prison record, Andrew never came to "talk" to me like he said he would. He's scared off. Completely. And honestly, I can't blame him. Who wants an ex-con in their life?
Here's the thing though — I don't just like Andrew. I'm in love with him. Head-over-heels, can't-stop-thinking-about-him, painfully aware of him in every room we share. And sharing a home with him while pretending I feel nothing is a special kind of agony. He deserves so much better than Nina. I could make him happy. I could give him the baby he wants. And let's face it — anything is better than *her*. But it doesn't matter. He knows I went to prison. He doesn't want an ex-convict. So he'll stay miserable with that witch for the rest of his life, and I'll just... exist. Silently. Lovingly. Hopelessly.
My phone buzzes again. *Any French bread?*
Ten more minutes of hunting. Ten more minutes of waiting for her verdict. Finally, I find a loaf that meets Her Majesty's expectations. I practically sprint to the checkout, loading my cart and preparing to escape this nightmare. But as I roll toward the register, I see him again. The heavyset man. And this time, it's worse.
He's not just staring. He's standing there, empty-handed. No shopping cart. No groceries. So what exactly is he doing in a supermarket with nothing to buy?
I check out as fast as humanly possible, stuffing paper bags into my cart, my heart hammering as I push toward the exit. The parking lot is so close. My Nissan is so close. Freedom is so close.
And then a hand closes around my shoulder.
I whip around, and there he is. The heavyset man. His grip on my arm is firm, unyielding. "Excuse me!" I try to jerk away, but he holds tight. My right hand balls into a fist. I glance around — at least there are witnesses. Plenty of people watching. "What do you think you're doing?"
He points to a small ID badge hanging from the collar of his blue dress shirt. One I hadn't noticed before. "I'm supermarket security. Can you come with me, Miss?"
I'm going to be sick. Absolutely sick. I just spent ninety agonizing minutes in this place shopping for a handful of items, and now I'm being arrested? For *what*?
"What's wrong?" I gulp, my voice barely a whisper.
A crowd has gathered. I spot a couple of women from the school pick-up line, and I know with absolute certainty they will gleefully report back to Nina that they saw her housekeeper being apprehended by supermarket security. The gossip will spread like wildfire.
"Please come with me," the man says again.
I push my cart along with us because I'm terrified to leave it behind. There's over two hundred dollars' worth of groceries in there, and if anything gets lost or stolen, Nina will absolutely make me pay for every single item. So I follow him into a small, dingy office with a scratched-up wooden desk and two plastic chairs in front of it. He gestures for me to sit. The chair creaks threateningly under my weight, like it might collapse at any moment.
"This has got to be a mistake..." I read his ID badge. Paul Dorsey. "What's this about, Mr. Dorsey?"
He frowns, his jowls hanging heavy as he levels me with a suspicious gaze. "A customer alerted me that you were stealing items from the supermarket."
I gasp. The sound is almost theatrical, but I can't help it. "I would never do that!"
"Maybe not." He hooks his thumb into his belt loop, looking at me like I'm already guilty. "But I have to investigate. Can I see your receipt, please, Miss...?"
"Calloway." I dig through my purse, my hands shaking as I pull out the crumpled strip of paper. "Here."
"Just a warning," he says, his voice flat and cold. "We prosecute all shoplifters."
I sit in that plastic chair, my cheeks burning with humiliation, while the security guard painstakingly goes through every single item in my cart, matching each purchase against that receipt. My stomach churns violently. What if the clerk missed something? What if something didn't ring up properly? What if he thinks I stole it? Then what? They call the police. They arrest me. And that's a parole violation for sure.
It hits me like a freight train: this would work out *perfectly* for Nina. She'd get rid of me without ever having to be the mean person who fired me. She'd get sweet revenge for me sleeping with her husband. Sure, it's a bit extreme to send someone to jail for adultery, but I get the feeling Nina doesn't see it that way. She'd see it as justice.
But no. It can't happen. I didn't steal anything. There's nothing in that cart that isn't on my receipt.
Is there?
I watch him scrutinize the paper, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe. The tub of pistachio ice cream in my cart is probably turning to soup by now, but I couldn't care less. All I can think about is going back to jail. I can't do it. I *won't*. I'd rather die than go back to that place.
"Well," he finally says, breaking the unbearable silence. "Everything seems to match up."
Tears sting my eyes. I almost burst into sobs of relief. "Right. Of course."
He grunts, handing back my receipt. "I'm sorry to bother you like that, Miss Calloway. But we have a lot of problems with shoplifters, so I had to take it seriously. And I got a phone call alerting me that a customer matching your description might be planning to take something."
A phone call.
Someone called the grocery store. Someone described what I look like. Someone told the security guard I was planning to steal something.
Who would do such a thing?
There's only one person in the world who would orchestrate something this cruel, this petty, this *calculated*.
Nina.
"Anyway," he says, "thanks for your patience. You can go now."
Those are the four most beautiful words in the English language. *You can go now.* I'm free. I get to leave this grocery store with my hands free, pushing my shopping cart. I get to go home.
This time.
But as I push through the exit doors into the blinding daylight, a terrible feeling settles into my bones like ice water. This isn't the end. It's only the beginning. Nina has more in store for me. She's playing a game I don't fully understand yet, and I'm just a pawn on her chessboard.
The question is: what's her next move?
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**Reader's Impressions & Star Rating:**
Oh, my heart was RACING through this entire chapter. The way Freida McFadden builds tension in the most mundane settings is absolutely masterful. Grocery shopping becomes a battlefield, and Millie's constant fear of being sent back to prison is so palpable you can feel it in your chest. The realization that Nina orchestrated the entire shoplifting accusation is chilling — it shows just how calculated and dangerous she truly is. And Millie's hopeless love for Andrew adds another layer of emotional depth that makes you ache for her.
I also love the small details — the women from school pick-up watching, the melting pistachio ice cream, the creaking plastic chair. Every detail adds to the suffocating atmosphere. This chapter is a slow-burn thriller that reminds us that sometimes the most terrifying battles happen in the most ordinary places.
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Rating: 4.9 / 5 Stars
**Next Chapter Prediction:**
Nina is clearly escalating her war against Millie. If she's willing to orchestrate a false shoplifting accusation, what else is she capable of? I predict the next chapter will show Nina confronting Millie with an even crueler scheme — perhaps planting evidence of something more serious, or manipulating Andrew further, or even threatening Millie's freedom directly. The tension is building toward a breaking point, and I have a feeling Millie is going to be pushed to her absolute limit. Will she fight back? Or will she crumble? Knowing Millie, she's not going down without a fight.
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