A not so helping hand

"Are you seriously telling me I have to wear this?"

The voice came out high-pitched, a mix of anger and embarrassment, eyes wide as the fabric dangled between two trembling fingers like it was made of thorns. "This isn't even real clothing—you're joking, right? This has to be a joke."

Rafael leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a noticeable smirk.

"Oh, but it is real clothing," he said, almost innocently. "Straight from a catalog. Very professional... well, almost."

The "clothing" in question was a maid costume—though not the kind used for actual work. This one was straight from a "sexy costumes" catalog: a tiny black dress with frilly white lace along the edges, a tiny apron barely covering the front, and a neckline that dipped dangerously low. It even came with a little lace headband and thigh-high stockings.

"This is ridiculous," muttered Renato—or what was left of him. The figure staring back in the mirror was not someone he recognized. A slim waist, wide hips, soft legs. His arms—once thick and hairy—were now smooth and slender. His face had softened into a delicate version of itself, with big expressive eyes and full lips. He looked like an exaggeratedly attractive female version of himself.

"You came to me for help, remember?" Rafael reminded him, calm as ever. "I was generous. I gave you a place to stay, food… even clothes. But now, you live here. And people who live here help out. You don’t have any ID, no job, and no way to prove who you are—or who you were. So you follow the rules of the house."

"But I can't go around dressed—dressed like this!"

"'Go around'?" Rafael chuckled. "You’re not going anywhere. You’ll stay here. Clean, cook, take care of the place. That’s your role now."

Renato dropped the outfit onto the couch in frustration, though there was hesitation in the gesture. The bitter truth was hard to ignore. Ever since his wife had discovered his betrayal, everything had fallen apart. Not just the marriage. Everything.

"I don’t even know how she found out," he muttered. "No one knew. I had a separate phone, separate contacts. I was careful. How could she..."

"She found out," Rafael said flatly, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "And not only that—she had the power to do this to you. Ever think maybe she was more than she seemed?"

Renato didn’t answer. He sat down carefully, conscious of the skirt riding up dangerously. The discomfort wasn’t just physical. It was emotional. Existential.

"And someone told her," he added in a whisper. "She couldn’t have figured it all out on her own..."

Rafael sipped his coffee. He didn’t meet Renato’s eyes.

"You told her, didn’t you?"

There was a pause.

"I did," Rafael finally admitted. "I got tired. Tired of hearing you brag. Tired of watching you humiliate her behind her back. You always acted untouchable. Like you were better than everyone else. You used to say, ‘If the marriage is bad, just leave.’ Well, she left… and threw you off the cliff on her way out."

Silence. Long and heavy.

Finally, Renato whispered:

"So now what? You gonna make me scrub the floors on my knees too?"

Rafael smiled.

"For now, just the bathroom. But if you prove yourself dedicated, who knows? I might promote you to cook."

Renato stood up, picked up the frilly costume with trembling hands, and gave Rafael a look filled with anger, humiliation… and resignation.

He disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door.

On the other side, Rafael stood quietly for a moment, staring into his now-empty coffee cup.

"You may have lost everything..." he murmured. "But maybe you’ll become something better because of it."