🎶 I sleep in silence, dream in fear,
🎶 She breaks me down when no one's near.
🎶 A smile I fake, a bruise I hide,
🎶 But no one sees the tears I've dried.
🎶 You call it home, I call it war,
🎶 Each breath I take hurts more and more.
🎶 She wears a crown of cruel disguise,
🎶 While I hold back my lullaby cries.
----
The sharp echo of Mrs. Lee's voice pierced through the oppressive silence of the house, jarring Queenie from the fragile comfort of her thoughts. "Queenie!" she barked, and the sound sliced through the stillness, forcing her body into immediate action. The towel she had been holding slipped from her trembling hand, a soft slap against the sink that seemed to reverberate in the small, cold kitchen.
Heart hammering in her chest like a trapped bird, Queenie's breath quickened. Every part of her seemed to freeze in place for a fraction of a second. But the instinctive fear rose quickly, and she grabbed another towel, wiping her hands furiously as her pulse pounded in her ears. She didn't need to be told twice. She had learned the hard way that Mrs. Lee's commands were never to be ignored—especially when her stepmother's voice rang with that dangerous edge.
The heavy weight of dread clung to her as she rushed toward the sitting room, her bare feet hardly making a sound against the polished wooden floors. Each step felt like it might be her last, the ground beneath her almost an enemy she couldn't escape.
"Good morning, Mother," Queenie muttered softly, her voice barely a whisper as she bowed her head. Her heart squeezed in her chest, her throat tight with the need to keep her words as small, as submissive as possible. She couldn't risk looking Mrs. Lee in the eye—not today. Not ever, if she could help it. The last time she had dared to meet her stepmother's gaze, the fury that had followed was still fresh in her bones, an old burn that had never fully healed.
Her stepmother sat in the center of the room on the large leather chair that always seemed to absorb the light, casting long shadows over her figure. Dressed in an expensive black nightgown, Mrs. Lee looked every bit as cold and calculated as the words that usually came from her lips. Her dark, narrowed eyes flicked to Queenie, and at that moment, it felt like the entire room had constricted, the air thick with judgment.
Mrs. Lee's voice was a low hiss, sharp like a blade's edge. "How dare you call me mother?" she spat. "Did I tell you to call me that? Do you think I would give birth to a worthless, despicable thing like you?" Her words came like a slap to Queenie's chest, a brutal reminder of everything she wasn't. "You only know how to be useless, and now you think I'll tolerate hearing that horrid voice of yours?"
Queenie's body stiffened. The sting of those words hit deep, far deeper than anything physical could. But she fought against it, forced herself to breathe through it, knowing that to react in any way would only worsen things. She swallowed the lump in her throat, clenching her hands tightly at her sides to keep them from shaking. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again," she whispered, her voice barely audible, a fragile plea that wasn't even meant to be heard. She dared not lift her gaze. The tension in the room felt like it could choke her.
Mrs. Lee stood slowly, her movements precise and calculated, each step measured in contempt as she paced in front of Queenie. The click of her heels on the floor echoed through the room, loud in the stillness. Queenie's stomach twisted, but she remained rooted to the spot, a puppet whose strings were pulled by every step Mrs. Lee took.
"I still don't understand why my husband insisted on keeping you here," Mrs. Lee said, her voice dripping with disgust as she passed Queenie again, this time circling her. "Why didn't he just throw you out? You're worthless to me, and you always will be." She stopped in front of Queenie, eyes narrowing into cruel slits, her words almost spitting out like venom. "That's why your mother abandoned you, isn't it? She knew what you really were."
Queenie felt her chest tighten, the breath in her lungs freezing. It wasn't the first time Mrs. Lee had used those words against her, but they never failed to wound. Her throat constricted, and the sting of unshed tears burned behind her eyes. But she swallowed them down—she had learned long ago that tears were nothing but weaknesses waiting to be exploited.
"You'll never be anything, Queenie," Mrs. Lee whispered harshly, the words lingering in the air, suffocating her. "You don't even belong here."
The final blow. Queenie's heart felt as though it had cracked in two, but she couldn't let it show. Her fingers twisted together so tightly that her nails dug into her skin, and she buried the anguish deep inside her, keeping it locked away where no one could see it. Mrs. Lee's words echoed endlessly in her mind, drowning out the rest of the world. You're nothing.
It was true. To them, she was invisible—nothing more than a shadow passing through their lives. A mistake, a burden they could never rid themselves of. She wasn't a daughter. She wasn't family. She was a ghost in this house, a body that took up space but held no meaning.
Mrs. Lee's voice snapped Queenie back to reality, slicing through her thoughts. "What are you standing there for?" she demanded. "Get back to work. You should have been finished by now. Still washing dishes?" The words were a harsh whip against her skin, sending a fresh wave of panic through her.
Queenie's stomach churned, her breath quickening as Mrs. Lee glared at her, the weight of her anger almost suffocating. Her eyes burned with an intensity that made Queenie feel like she was being drawn and quartered. "You've got ten minutes," Mrs. Lee continued her voice now a cold, steely command. "Finish everything and have food on the table. Ten minutes. If you're late, forget about eating today. And stop slacking off, Queenie. You're getting lazier and lazier." Her words were sharp, punctuated with malice. "Are you planning to leave this house?"
The question hung in the air, cruel and taunting. Queenie's heart dropped into her stomach. Leave? Where would she go? Who would take her in? There was no one left to turn to. The thought of escape was a fleeting fantasy, something she could never afford to entertain.
"I'm sorry, Auntie," Queenie murmured, forcing a smile to her lips, though it was weak and barely there. "I'll do better next time." She bowed her head, backing away slowly, retreating to the kitchen where she could disappear into the shadows once more.
Her heart was hammering in her chest as she made her way back to the kitchen. The pressure in her chest was building, suffocating her from the inside. She only had ten minutes to finish everything. The thought felt impossible, suffocating her with the weight of it. But she had no choice. She couldn't afford to fail.
Just as she reached the kitchen door, her thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, breaking through her spiraling panic. "You know that isn't possible, Queenie," it said gently.
Allison. Queenie turned to see her step-sister standing in the doorway, her face full of concern. Her presence was a small comfort, though it only reminded Queenie of just how isolated she truly was.
"Where would you go once you're out of this house?" Allison continued. "There's no one left to turn to. No friends. No family. You're alone." The truth of her words settled heavily on Queenie's heart, sinking her deeper into despair.
Queenie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There was nothing to say. Allison was right.
Allison walked over, wrapping her arms around Queenie in a tight, unexpected hug. Queenie stiffened at first, but then her body relaxed against the warmth. The gesture was small, but it was the first bit of kindness Queenie had felt in so long, and it was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes. "Don't listen to her," Allison whispered softly. "Don't let her words break you. You're stronger than that."
Queenie blinked rapidly, wiping at her eyes. "I'm fine," she whispered. "It doesn't matter. I'm used to it."
Allison pulled away, her brow furrowed with concern, but she said nothing more. Instead, she grabbed the sponge and began scrubbing the dishes next to Queenie, her presence unexpected yet silent support. The rhythmic sound of the sponge against the plates filled the silence between them, a small moment of peace amid the chaos. Queenie could feel the tension in her shoulders begin to loosen, but it was fleeting. Mrs. Lee's harsh words still clung to her, echoing in her mind.
Allison's soft smile was the only light in the oppressive air of the kitchen, but even that seemed dimmed in the shadow of her stepmother's wrath.
Queenie sighed, her hands trembling as she gathered the ingredients for the meal, for a moment as she absorbed her sister's words. It was as if a foreign idea had been dropped into the chaos of her thoughts, but it quickly became lost beneath the tidal wave of fear. She turned her head slightly, catching Allison's gaze, and for the briefest moment, she almost believed her.
"But I have to," Queenie whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't have a choice."
There was no bitterness in her tone, just resignation, a quiet acceptance that had settled in her heart long ago. The idea of defying Mrs. Lee felt like a distant dream, one that was never meant for her. Her body had learned long ago to bend and yield, to disappear into the background where no one would notice her failures. She had become a shadow-a quiet, invisible figure that existed only to serve and be dismissed.
Allison's expression softened. "You don't always have to take the weight of this place on your shoulders, Queenie," she said, her voice firm now, a sharp contrast to the fragile warmth she had shown moments ago. "You deserve more than this. You don't deserve to be treated like an invisible servant. I know it's hard, but there are other ways."
Queenie shook her head, trying to push the words aside. "No. This is my place. I'm nothing more than the help here. And if I leave… if I stop, everything will fall apart. She'll make sure of it." The dark, suffocating thought hovered over her, a cold, threatening presence that made it hard to breathe.
For a brief moment, there was silence again. The world seemed to stop, the quiet weight of the conversation sinking deeper into Queenie's chest, pressing harder against her ribs. She wanted to believe her sister, wanted to grasp onto that sliver of hope that there was more for her beyond the prison of this house. But how could she? Everything she had known her entire life told her that there was nothing beyond the walls of this house, nothing but pain, humiliation, and loneliness.
Allison's gaze softened once more. She stepped closer to Queenie, her eyes filled with unspoken sympathy. "You can leave, Queenie. I know it feels impossible, but you can choose something better. Something that's yours."
Queenie turned her gaze back down to the sink, her hands shaking slightly as she continued to scrub the same plate over and over again. Her heart felt heavy, weighed down by the truth of her sister's words and the crushing reality of the life she had lived. Every fiber of her being screamed to believe Allison, to believe that she was worth more than this. But the fear, the suffocating fear of what would happen if she stepped out of line, kept her anchored in place.
"I can't," she muttered, her voice thick with defeat. "I don't know how."
Allison didn't say anything at first, just stood there, her presence a quiet comfort, a gentle force that tried to anchor Queenie in a moment of fragile solace. After a while, she took a deep breath, as though gathering her thoughts. "I can't force you to do anything," she said softly, her voice carrying a trace of sadness. "But I'll always be here. You're not alone, Queenie."
The weight in Queenie's chest eased a little. She hadn't realized how much she needed someone until now. But Allison... Allison saw her. For the first time in so long, Queenie felt like she might not have to carry the weight alone.
"Has Mom agreed to pay for your school yet?" Allison asked casually, but the concern was still there.
Queenie sighed, her hands trembling as she gathered the ingredients for the meal. "I don't think she plans on it."
Allison's face darkened. "You know I can help you, right?"
"No," Queenie shook her head quickly. "I don't want you to get into trouble. I'll wait for Father to return. Maybe he can help."
Allison scoffed. "Father isn't any better than Mom. He's just as cold and indifferent."
Queenie fell silent, her heart sinking. She knew Allison was right. But what could she say? What could she do? Pretend everything was fine, like she always had.
But maybe, just maybe... one day, things would change.
One day, she would be free.
And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe it.