Please, would you proofread my text.
"You are not one of those immigrants who steal from old pensioners, I hope?" said Katarina Donatelli when she opened the door to her flat. Her small, blue eyes gave me a piecing look as if she could have read my thoughts. "Of course not, madam," I answered. "I have never stolen a single thing in all my life." "Well, in that case you are welcome!" She opened the door wide and let me come in. "And your name is..?" Again there was one of her penetrating looks which made me feel like a criminal. "My name is Enver. I am from Bosnia." "All right," she said and finally smiled for a moment. "I hope we will get on well together. You probably know why I am so suspicious. Some of the people who have worked here before you behaved dishonestly. One of the things I hate is villains, especially if they are women."
I knew that Katarina had had some problems with my predecessors. She had accused one of the women of stealing her ring and the other of stealing her money but nothing could be proven. It was her word against theirs, charges and counter charges which did not achieve a solution. The rules in our company were that whatever happens the "patient" was always right. The two women were suspended from work for some months and later, when they were declared innocent, they came back but they were kept away from the Katarina's district. I did not know them so well that I could have decided who was telling the truth. One of them was from the Middle East and the other from East Europe; they both had been working for years without any complaints. I have seen them crying and swearing on their children that they were innocent, but the real truth was known only to Katarina and themselves.
Soon, it became clear to me why she was classed as a difficult patient. That means someone who complains all the time and is never satisfied. Finally, she demanded a male care worker instead of a female and everybody laughed. People told each other that the old woman wanted a toy boy but nobody wanted to be the chosen one. So when my boss called me to his office to tell me that I was that person, I was not specially happy. However, I knew that as an immigrant I was not in a situation to pick and choose. He had also promised me a pay raise if everything went all right. Leaving his office I had comforted myself that, after all, I had survived three years of Bosnian war, seen people being killed and wounded, houses burnt down, whole villages destroyed, so how could I be defeated by an old, fragile whinger?
To be continued...