I opened the door expecting the usual chaos, Lydia's voice ripping through the walls and her daughter laughing carelessly. But silence hit me first. The living room was unusually still. I froze, halfway into the doorway.
Then I saw them.
Lydia stood like a statue, perfectly dressed, eyes sharp beneath her makeup. Her arms were crossed, the corners of her mouth pulled into a thin line, looking like a dutiful wife. Beside her, Father slouched in a worn suit, the faint smell of alcohol clinging to him, but calmer than the image he had become. And then… a stranger. Tall, poised, perfectly groomed, the kind of presence that made rooms shift without a word. Sienna hovered nearby, all smiles and whispers, her latest prize gleaming beside her. A Crestwood. Third in line. Rich, influential, untouchable.
My chest tightened. I'd heard of them. Families like the Crestwoods didn't just own wealth—they owned fear, reputation, influence. And Sienna had somehow trapped one in her orbit.
"Where have you been?" Lydia's voice sliced the quiet, sharp but controlled.
I hesitated, unsure whether to speak. She was glaring at me, her tone deadly calm.
Father's glass trembled in his hand. "Mira, your mother's old room, clean it. Everything must be perfect. No excuses."
Perfect. The word mocked me. Nothing about this house or this family had ever been perfect for me.
Sienna leaned closer to the Crestwood, whispering something that made him chuckle. I wanted to turn away, to vanish into the walls, but Lydia's gaze pinned me.
"You will behave," she said, voice low, venomous. "Or leave. This is your only warning."
I swallowed, nodding. The warning wasn't just for me, it was for my independence, my dignity. Every step I took in this house felt like walking on broken glass.
I slipped out of the room as if nothing had happened, avoiding Sienna's smug glance. The hall smelled of perfume and expensive fabric, a stark contrast to the damp, forgotten corners of the home I used to claim. My father muttered something incoherent about debts as I passed. Lydia's sharp hiss followed me, a silent promise that nothing good awaited me here.
Outside, the streets called like a refuge. I didn't go home. The thought of being trapped between Sienna's laughter and Lydia's fury was suffocating. My feet carried me past cafés and quiet alleys until I reached the restaurant, my second home. The familiar clatter of trays, the hiss of the espresso machine, even the harsh words of the managers, all felt safer than the house I had left behind.
I curled into a corner near the garage, exhaustion pulling at my bones. The hum of the refrigerators and the faint smell of pastry soothed me, a strange comfort. My bag of leftover treats, carefully collected from the morning rush, sat beside me.
Richard had been gone claiming to have urgent family matters. His absence weighed heavily. I missed the quiet steadiness he brought, the shield against chaos I could always lean on. Without him, the world felt sharper, colder, it means going to work alone.
I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the noises of the restaurant replace the tension in my chest. But the image of the Crestwood lingered, Sienna's triumphant grin, Lydia's controlled rage, Father's feeble attempts at authority. This house wasn't going be mine. It never had been. If only my mother was here, maybe she could have treated me better.
Hours passed. Eventually, the city quieted outside, but I didn't leave. I couldn't. Not yet. Not while I still had a roof over me, however temporary. I laid down on the concrete floor near the storage shelves, careful not to disturb the leftover boxes or the cleaning supplies. Hunger gnawed at me, but the bread and pastries offered a small reprieve.
Sleep was shallow. Dreams twisted around debts, threats, and the unyielding laughter of my step-sister. I woke intermittently, convinced Lydia's voice had followed me here.
By the time the early night shift began, I was ready. Fresh apron, hair tied back, hands steady despite the ache in my arms and legs. I moved through the kitchen and dining area with the resumption of packing out and leaving the my last behind me, because I have to.
The staff whispered, glances sharp, eyes lingering on me with judgment and curiosity. Vanessa and Chanel were at it again, but the venom in their eyes didn't reach me here. I had walls they couldn't penetrate. Since, Richard wasn't here anymore they can do all the like.
The stray dog from yesterday wandered past the back alley near the restaurant. Its tail flicked hesitantly, and I offered it a piece of stale bread. Its cautious wag made me smile, brief and fragile. A reminder that kindness still exist in the corners of this harsh world.
Later, I counted coins tips from customers and tucked away leftover treats into my bag. Survival wasn't glamorous. It wasn't noble. But this is mine. Every morsel, every dollar, every quiet moment of control reminded me that I was still here. Still breathing. Still planning.
The night ended with the same quiet determination I carried every day. Sienna's new conquest, Lydia's threats, my father's debts, they could not touch me here, in this fragile fortress of my making. Tomorrow, the world would demand more, as it always did. But tonight… tonight, I had survived.
And
I would survive again.