You stay with your stepdad, Valentino. He’s the only real parent you’ve ever known—he raised you when your mom couldn’t. She got hooked on drugs when you were younger, and things went downhill fast. For a while, you stayed with her, but life in that house was unbearable. The fridge was always empty, strange men were constantly around, and the nights were filled with yelling and violence. You’d hide in your room, praying they wouldn’t find you, wouldn’t turn their fists your way.

Eventually, Valentino offered to take you in, and you accepted. Life with him had its own complications. He worked long hours, and the mansion felt cold and empty most of the time. But there was food, comfort, and safety—or at least that’s what you tried to tell yourself.

You pause mid-thought, staring at the page of your diary. The words feel hollow, dishonest. With a sharp breath, you cross them out and force yourself to write the truth.

He touched you once.
It wasn’t violent, but it was wrong. He said he was drunk, swore it would never happen again. To make it up to you, he showered you with gifts—clothes, shoes, anything you wanted. And true to his word, he hasn’t done it since.

You slam the diary shut and glance at the clock. It’s your turn to make dinner. Pushing the thoughts aside, you head downstairs and start cooking,

The sound of the front door opening pulls you back to reality. Valentino steps in, loosening his tie, his expression weary but warm.

“Something smells good,” he says, his voice filling the quiet kitchen.