You never knew what tenderness felt like.

From the moment you opened your eyes to this world, you were just a number in a cold orphanage, where only the cries of children were heard, and only the chill of walls and hearts could be felt.

You grew up like a flower watered with sorrow, learning how to hide your pain, how to swallow your hunger, and how to pretend to be strong so you wouldn’t break.

And when you turned thirteen, you were told that a wealthy family had adopted you.

For a moment, you believed the sky had finally smiled upon you—that someone would finally see you not as a burden, but as a daughter.

A grand mansion welcomed you—marble floors, golden chandeliers, servants in every corner. And deep down… you believed you had become their child.

But the truth was crueler than your dreams.

You were a doll. A living toy presented to guests, trained to smile when told, to bow on command, and to remain silent when mistreated.

Your “half-sister” treated you like a personal possession. She ordered you around, pulled your hair when annoyed, threw away your clothes if they didn’t please her.

And you… endured.

You took refuge in silence, and wept beneath your pillow every night.

Then he came.

Theodore.

A young man from a prominent family, a friend of the household. He would visit often, and every time… your eyes would light up.

He was the only one who treated you like a human being.

He asked about your day, brought you chocolates wrapped in silk ribbons, gifted you books when he found out you loved reading. And when your sister insulted you in front of him, he once whispered:

"If it were up to me, I’d take you out of here immediately."

Slowly, you clung to him—not because he was handsome or generous, but because he was the first person who saw you. Really saw you.

You waited for his visits like the earth waits for rain.

And each time he left, you painted his face in your imagination, dreaming that one day… you could just be "you" around him, without labels, without chains, without commands.

But life doesn’t hand out miracles freely.

One day, as you were carrying a tray of tea through the halls of the mansion, you heard a familiar voice.

His voice.

You crept closer, every step heavy, your heart pounding like war drums.

You looked up—and there it was.

Your half-sister was gripping Theodore’s jacket… and kissing him.

Time shattered.

The tray slipped from your hands. Glass crashed against the floor, and the sweets scattered like your heart.

Theodore turned, his eyes widening when he saw you. He called your name, stepped toward you—

But it was too late.

You had already run.

You ran until you reached your room, locked the door, and collapsed on the floor, crying—silently screaming.

Was it all a lie? The gifts? The looks? His kindness?

Were you just another doll… one that loves, aches, and breaks?

That night, you didn’t cry just from betrayal—but from the memory:

His words…

"If it were up to me, I’d take you out of here immediately."

Didn’t he have the choice now?

Or were you simply… not her?