Chapter 7

• Some wounds are stitched with silence, and mine will never heal.
• ARLET
• "The morning brings hope to our lives," my mother used to say. "We should always welcome it with open hearts. There will be hard nights, but the promise of dawn will keep you going."
• Since then, I’ve made it a habit to thank God for every morning—bright or cloudy. Each one still carries the possibility of hope.
• Soft light filtered through the sheer curtains, brushing against my eyelids and coaxing me awake. I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the brightness.
• But instead of the usual view of my basement, I saw an unfamiliar space—an enormous living room with broken pieces of vases scattered across the floor. It was a sharp reminder that my life had taken a new turn.
• I sat up and looked around. As I’d expected, I was alone in the house.
• Moving cautiously, I settled on the couch, unsure of what I was supposed to do next.
• The door creaked open, and for a brief moment, I thought it might be Ruben. But instead, Magda, the housekeeper who welcomed me last night, stepped in.
• "Good morning, ma’am," she said, her voice gentle but laced with concern. Her eyes flicked to the mess on the floor before meeting mine. "How are you feeling?"
• I glanced around the room and then gave her a small nod.
• She seemed to understand. "It’s alright," she said, offering a kind smile. "Trevor explained everything."
• I nodded again, this time with a faint attempt to smile back.
• "Would you like to freshen up?" she asked. "I’ll take care of the mess and bandage your feet afterward."
• Only then did I remember the sharp pain in my soles. I followed her upstairs without a word, my steps slow and careful as I took in the house’s beauty.
• When we reached the room, she opened the door, and I froze for a moment. The room was stunning—beautiful tapestries adorned the walls, and large glass panels let in the warm morning light.
• "Here," she said, placing my duffle bags on the floor. "Are these all your belongings?"
• I nodded, though my chest tightened at the sight of those bags. Debbie had packed them in a hurry, probably wanting to get rid of me as quickly as possible.
• "Do you need help organizing them?" Magda asked.
• I shook my head. She smiled again. "Alright. I’ll leave you to it and get started on breakfast."
• Once she left, I opened the bags and sifted through the contents. As I expected, most of my things were missing. Debbie had only packed a few clothes, my parents’ picture, and my journals.
• I pulled out one of the dresses—one of my best—but even it felt plain and out of place in this luxurious house.
• Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but feel small. Even my nicest dress seemed unworthy of a place like this. But I had no other options.
• My fingertips traced over the photograph I was holding—my parents, smiling with me in happier times. A faint smile tugged at my lips, fleeting but warm. They must have shielded me from so much. But now that they’re gone, it’s up to me to figure out what to do next.
• I grabbed my plain white cotton dress and headed to the bathroom, my thoughts restless.
• Ruben. He must be hurting. Who could understand him better than me? I knew the sting of rejection, the ache of betrayal. He must feel heartbroken. But would he believe me? Would he understand it wasn’t my fault—that I was framed?
• When I came downstairs, I noticed the living room had been tidied. The comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, drawing me toward the kitchen.
• “Good morning, ma’am,” Magda greeted me warmly, her hands busy setting the table. “You look lovely today.” She placed a plate of pancakes and boiled eggs in front of me, the sight of it catching me off guard.
• “I’m sorry,” she continued with a small smile. “I should have asked what you’d like for breakfast.”
• Her words stung unexpectedly. No one had asked me what I wanted in years. For the last five years, I had lived serving others, eating whatever scraps were left over. Touched by her kindness, I reached for another plate and gestured for her to sit with me.
• “Oh no, ma’am, we’re not allowed,” she protested gently, shaking her head.
• I picked up a piece of paper from her apron pocket and a pen from the counter. After scribbling quickly, I handed it to her.
• Please call me Arlet.
• I’d love it if you joined me for breakfast.
• Her eyes widened as she read my note. “Are you sure?”
• I nodded, pulling out the chair beside me and motioning for her to sit.
• Reluctantly, she took the seat, and we ate together in silence. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk, but my mind was elsewhere. My thoughts kept circling back to Ruben, to his pain and the unanswered questions I desperately needed to resolve.
• A vehicle came to a screeching stop outside the mansion, the sharp sound of brakes cutting through the quiet of the room. Magda leapt up and sprinted toward the window to get a glimpse of the person responsible. Her eyes met mine briefly, her expression tense—a silent warning that a storm was brewing.
• Before I could get a glimpse of the newcomer myself, we heard the front door creak open, and someone’s footsteps moved toward the staircase. My curiosity tugged at me, eager to take in his features, but Magda’s hand stopped me.
• “I’ve never seen him this angry. Is everything alright?” she whispered.
• The question felt misplaced, especially given the context. Betrayal and heartbreak had a way of making even the smallest misunderstandings feel loaded. She must have thought I was the woman he loved, and that thought gnawed at me. But how could I explain to Magda what was truly happening, what had brought her boss to this state of torment?
• He was supposed to marry my sister. But she left.
• I froze, pen still in hand, staring at her. Our eyes locked, and her face fell as the realization hit her. She cupped her mouth in shock.
• “Oh my God.”
• “Did he even know you?” she asked, her voice hesitant. The question hit me like a sharp blade. I knew the answer, the memory of his words from last night ringing in my mind: Who the fuck are you?
• I pressed the pen onto the paper to write a response when suddenly a loud crash broke through the air—a sound like something heavy hitting the floor. Magda’s attention darted toward the sound. Her face shifted as she scanned something unexpected, her expression unreadable.
• I followed her gaze and froze. My heart dropped as my eyes landed on the scattered remains of my belongings sprawled across the floor. A rush of panic clawed at me as I realized my things had been thrown out.
• Looking up, I saw him—standing on the mezzanine, his hand still gripping another bag, his face contorted in fury. A second bag slammed onto the ground, the sound sharp and cruel. A sound of cracking glass came to me, and I knew—my parents’ picture must have been destroyed.
• “Who the heck kept this trash in my room?” he roared, his voice full of hate as he stormed toward me.
• Magda stammered beside me, but I was focused, entirely focused on the broken frame at my feet.
• “I’m sorry, Boss. I… I thought—” Magda’s voice broke as she tried to explain herself, her words stumbling. She must have assumed that keeping his wife’s belongings in his room would somehow help, now that his wife was to belong there.
• I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as I started to gather the shards of my life scattered on the floor. I picked up every tiny piece of glass and every bit of my clothing, every fragment that had been torn from me. My hands bled, but I didn’t care.
• He sauntered back toward his room, his hateful voice lingering in the air like a poison only meant for me. I didn’t dare look at him again. I knew he had the final weapon, the sharpest dagger to whittle me away, and I wasn’t ready to face it.
• “Arlet,” Magda’s voice broke through my thoughts as she knelt beside me, helping me gather the pieces of my shattered hopes scattered on the floor. “He is not a bad man. He’s just… broken.”
• So was I. But unlike him, I would never hurt another person simply because I was in pain. It came down to choices—something he seemed to have forgotten.
• I gave her a thin smile and pulled my two battered bags closer to me, staring at them. How strange it was—my entire life had crumbled into two sacks and a broken picture frame.
• “Wait, let me get you into the guest room,” Magda said, her voice gentle as she picked up some of my things. I could see her effort to try and make me feel welcomed, to make me feel at home, but the only thing I wanted was to leave. Escape. Run far from here, away from the man now bound to me as my husband.
• She took my things, and I followed her down the hallway to the room on the same floor.
• She opened the door, and as expected, the space was beautiful—better than my old, dark, lonely basement rat hole.
• “You can stay here,” Magda said, smiling warmly as she patted my shoulder.
• My eyes drifted toward the corner of the room and landed on a doll resting there. I picked it up, inspecting it with cautious curiosity, and showed it to Magda.
• “Oh, this? This belongs to our little princess,” she said softly.
• Ruben’s daughter. But where was she?
• “She’s staying with her grandparents,” Magda added, her voice hesitant. “You know how it is—newlywed life and all that…” Her voice trailed off as she glanced nervously toward the hallway.
• Before she could continue, Ruben’s voice cut through the air like a sharp blade:
• “Raya is coming. Make yourself ready, and stop attending to unimportant issues and people.”
• His words were cold, calculated, and formal in their cruelty. I felt them settle into my bones, dictating my very senses, and I knew—I would never become the woman he wanted to see in this lifetime.