"You're still as reckless as you always were, dropping things. No wonder you were being bullied in high school."
Hannah flinched, the ceramic mug slipping slightly in her soapy hands. Rose Henderson, lounging on the worn sofa with a stack of new magazines, didn't even look up. Beside her, Jane scrolled through her phone, a disdainful curl on her lip. The living room was a disaster – suitcases overflowing, clothes strewn everywhere, a thin film of dust already settling from the chaos of their return. Hannah, on her knees, was trying to bring some order to the mess they'd created the moment they stepped inside from their expensive college dorms.
Jane scoffed, finally tearing her eyes from the screen. "Honestly, Rose, did you expect anything less? Look at her." Her gaze swept over Hannah's bent back, the faded t-shirt, the hands rough from work. "Wait until they hear that you didn't even go to college, unlike us. Imagine, graduating and having this waiting for you."
Miriam Henderson entered from the kitchen, a steaming mug in her hand, her expression a carefully constructed mask of weary superiority. She observed the scene for a moment, her eyes resting dismissively on Hannah.
"Why would she go to college?" Miriam's voice was low, cutting. "She's unworthy of it. A waste of resources. Even that ridiculous scholarship she miraculously won – I definitely knew she cheated. Someone like her couldn't possibly earn that honestly."
Hannah's stomach clenched. That scholarship. The single, glittering chance she'd had, earned through grueling hours of studying after everyone else was asleep, sacrificing what little rest she had. She finally lifted her head, her voice quiet but filled with a raw, painful truth.
"But you... you used my scholarship..." she began, her throat tight. "...as a tool for Jane to take my place. You used your connections... you told the school..."
Miriam's facade shattered instantly. Her eyes flashed with cold fury. "Shut the hell up, Hannah!" she snapped, the tea sloshing in her mug. "Aren't you ashamed? Bringing that up again? What do you even do here other than wasting our supplies? We feed you, put a roof over your head – a roof you contribute nothing to! Be grateful we took you in, you ungrateful girl! After all we've done for you..."
"Don't say that, Mother," Jane interjected, though there was no kindness in her tone. A smirk played on her lips. "At least that was how I got to attend the best school in the world... with Leah and Leo. It all worked out perfectly, didn't it?" She emphasized their names, knowing the twins from the elite world were a constant, painful reminder of the chasm between their lives.
Rose giggled, a harsh, unpleasant sound. "Imagine Hannah trying to fit in at Rosehill Prep with them. She'd be laughed out on day one. Oh wait, they did laugh at her, didn't they?"
Hannah dropped the mug. It didn't break, just landed with a dull thud on the rug, water splashing the already damp carpet. Her hands were shaking. The memories flooded back – the whispers, the pointed fingers, Leah and Leo's open scorn in the hallways, calling her 'the charity case,' 'the scruffy ginger oddity.'
Thomas Henderson shuffled in, tie askew, newspaper in hand. "What's all this racket?" he grumbled, stepping around a suitcase. "Hannah, clean that up properly. Don't just stand there."
He didn't notice her trembling hands, the unshed tears burning in her eyes. He never did.
Maxwell, the youngest, appeared briefly in the hallway, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. He looked at Hannah, a flicker of something that might have been sympathy in his gaze, but one look from his mother silenced him, and he quickly retreated.
"Get back to it, Hannah," Miriam said, her voice returning to a colder, controlled tone, the brief outburst over. "The girls' rooms need airing out. And their laundry needs doing. It's piling up from college."
Hannah didn't respond. She couldn't. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she bent down, retrieved the mug, her reflection in its surface distorted, unrecognizable. She finished wiping the floor, then slowly, mechanically, began gathering the discarded clothes. Each item felt heavy, burdened with the weight of their casual cruelty, her own helplessness.
Later, much later, when the house was quiet, the Hendersons settled in their comfortable rooms, Hannah retreated to her own space. Not a room, but a storage closet under the stairs, barely large enough for a thin mattress and a small box of her few belongings. She pulled the door shut, plunging herself into the suffocating darkness. Collapsing onto the mattress, she curled into a tight ball, the cruel words of the day echoing in the silence. Unworthy. Cheat. Nothing. The pain was a physical ache, deep in her chest, a familiar companion. The taste of ashes.