When he was done eating his dinner, Rosa stood from her kneeling position on the floor and cleared the table. She washed the dishes and stacked them on the towel covering the counter. Grabbing the sponge, she wiped down the cast iron skillet and then the saucepan. Both were chained to the counter next to the stove with only enough slack for them to sit on the burner or to be lifted a few inches to clean. It was clunky and awkward but Rosa guessed it was so they couldn’t be used as weapons. That’s what she dreamed of using them for, anyway. When she was done cleaning, the man inspected all the dishes. He found a single small spot on the edge of his plate and he made her rewash them all. After checking everything again, he thankfully found them satisfactory. Rosa heaved a sigh of relief that she’d avoided punishment this time, but she quickly became disgusted when she remembered what was coming next. He sat down in his chair and removed his socks, rolling up his pants to expose his calves and feet. Rosa groaned inwardly. She hated what he was about to make her do.

Obediently, she picked up the large plastic bowl that was always next to the sink and filled it with warm water, grabbing the scrub brush from the counter before returning to him at the table. She shuffled forward slowly, focusing intently on not spilling any of the water on his clean floor. Rosa set it down carefully on the ground, then dutifully took the soft towel waiting on the table and spread it on the floor next to the water.

‘Let me test it first.’ The man dipped a finger in the water and frowned. ‘It’s a bit hot but I guess it’ll do.’

She sat down on the ground in front of him, guided his large calloused feet into the bowl, and began scrubbing them. Rosa hated feet. It took everything in her not to gag as she ran her fingers between each toe like he’d demanded the first time he gave her this task. She tried to zone out when she did his feet. She daydreamed about search efforts to find them; posters plastered everywhere with their smiling faces peering out. She wondered if her Myspace page was filled with hopeful messages from friends or if they’d already been forgotten. It’d been over six months. Would they still be posting and hoping?

He grunted, breaking her out of her trance, and said, ‘That’s good,’ lifted his feet out of the water and placed them on the towel to the side, where Rosa dried them off.