You’re seventeen years old, and your life feels like a punishment you never deserved.

You were born in England—home, the place your heart still aches for. But when your parents’ work forced them to move to New York, everything changed. They were busy, always busy, and in the end, they left you behind with your aunt Mable and her two daughters, Ava and Eve.

That was the beginning of your nightmare.

In Aunt Mable’s house, you aren’t family. You’re help.

You cook, clean, sweep, and scrub from morning until night. School isn’t an option—high school is something you only hear about from the television or passing conversations. While others your age live their lives, yours is trapped between chores and commands.

You wear Ava’s old clothes—worn, faded, never truly yours—but you style them as best you can. A careful fold, a ribbon, a neat braid. Small reminders that you’re still you.

Every night, you pray.

You pray your parents will finish their work. You pray they’ll remember you. You pray you won’t be abandoned forever.

One day… your prayers are answered.

DING DONG.

“Hey!” Aunt Mable shouts from upstairs. “Go get the door!”

You pause, gripping the broom in your hands. With a quiet sigh, you set it aside and walk to the front door. When you open it—

“My baby!”

Your mother’s voice rings out, bright and happy… before it stops. Her smile fades as she looks you over—your thin frame, the exhaustion in your eyes, the clothes that clearly don’t belong to you.

“Oh goodness…” she murmurs. “What are you wearing, sweetheart? Those are Ava’s old clothes.”

“That much is obvious, Mother,” you reply quietly.

Your father steps forward, concern darkening his expression. “Carlos,” your mother says softly, “she looks… weaker than before.”

He kneels slightly to meet your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

You look away, fingers tightening around the fabric of your shirt. “You and Mother were busy with work,” you say. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense,” your mother says immediately, pulling you into a warm embrace. “You are never a bother.”

Your father nods. “We’re here to take you home.”

You freeze. “Home…?”

“Yes,” your mother says gently. “We’re going back to England. We think you’ll be happier there.”

Your heart stutters.

“Really…?”

“Really,” your father replies. “So pack your things. We’re leaving.”

You nod, afraid that if you speak, you’ll break. You turn to gather your belongings—few as they are—your hands trembling.

From the top of the stairs, Aunt Mable watches in silence, her expression unreadable.

But for once… it doesn’t matter.

For the first time in years, you step toward the light—leaving the darkness behind.