As dawn broke, a sliver of pale light filtered through the narrow crack under the storeroom door. Emma Hamilton blinked herself awake, groggy from yet another restless night. The blanket tangled around her legs provided little warmth, and the dull ache in her body reminded her of the unforgiving mattress she had slept on. She rubbed her tired eyes, knowing that despite her fatigue, she had to get up.
There was no time for breakfast; there never was. Her stepmother, Miriam, had made sure of that. The woman always had a way of disguising cruelty as care. "It's for your own good, Emma," Miriam would say, her voice dripping with a sweetness that Emma had long learned to distrust. "You need to stay active, keep yourself busy. With everyone out of the house, you wouldn't want to feel lonely, would you?"
But Emma knew better. She knew that Miriam's insistence on her doing all the housework was nothing but a means to break her spirit further. The idea that this grueling routine was for Emma's benefit was just another one of Miriam's manipulations, designed to make her look like the caring stepmother while in reality, it was a calculated move to isolate and wear Emma down.
In the early days, Emma had tried to speak up. She had approached her father, Richard, once, explaining how the relentless chores left her exhausted, how she felt like she was being punished. But Miriam was always one step ahead.
"Oh, Emma," Miriam had sighed theatrically when Richard brought up the issue. "I just want her to be healthy, to build a bit of stamina. She's always been so delicate, and I worry about her. It's not like I'm asking much. Just a few light chores, really. I would never want to burden her."
Richard, preoccupied with his business empire, had nodded, trusting his wife's judgment. And as for her brothers—those who were at home enough to notice—well, they had been swayed by Miriam's convincing performance as the concerned stepmother. The day Emma had fainted from exhaustion, Miriam had been quick to dismiss it as mere theatrics.
"She's just trying to gain sympathy, Richard," Miriam had said, her tone laced with irritation. "Honestly, she's making a mountain out of a molehill. I've seen her sit around reading all day, and suddenly, she can't handle a few chores?"
Her father had looked at Emma with disappointment, and her brothers, already distant, had only grown more indifferent. Since that day, Emma had stopped trying to explain, choosing instead to bear the burden silently.
Now, as she forced herself to her feet, the room spun slightly. The familiar feeling of weakness crept in—she hadn't eaten anything since last night's pitiful excuse for a dinner. But there was no time to dwell on that. Miriam had made it clear that Emma was expected to clean the entire house before anyone returned.
She dragged herself to the tiny bathroom attached to her storeroom and splashed some cold water on her face. Staring at her reflection, she barely recognized the girl looking back at her. Dark circles framed her eyes, her cheeks were hollow, and her usually vibrant green eyes had lost their sparkle.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling slightly. She didn't believe it, but she had no choice. With a deep breath, she began her day.
The chores were grueling. Dusting, scrubbing, mopping—each task drained what little energy she had. The grand, opulent rooms of the Hamilton mansion seemed endless as she worked through them one by one. The contrast between her shabby storeroom and the lavish decorations of the rest of the house was not lost on her. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, antique furniture—everything spoke of wealth and power. And yet, she was treated worse than a servant.
By mid-morning, Emma felt her strength waning. She hadn't slept well, and the emptiness in her stomach gnawed at her insides. She paused for a moment, leaning against a wall to steady herself. But the dizziness only intensified. Her vision blurred, and before she could catch herself, she collapsed onto the cold marble floor.
When she came to, Miriam was standing over her, arms crossed and a look of disdain etched on her perfectly made-up face. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Emma,"she snapped. "Get up. Stop being so melodramatic."
Emma struggled to push herself up, but her limbs felt like lead. "I'm sorry, I—"she began, but Miriam cut her off.
"Sorry? This is what you call doing your chores? You think lying around on the floor is going to gain you any sympathy? Pathetic. You're just like your mother—always so weak and needy."
The words stung, as they always did. Emma bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears. She wouldn't give Miriam the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
"If you can't even handle this, then I don't know why you're still here," Miriam continued, her voice cold. "Honestly, you're just a burden to this family. No wonder your father and brothers can't stand the sight of you."
Emma's heart ached at the harshness of Miriam's words. She had heard it all before, but it never got any easier. Summoning what little strength she had left, she forced herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she did.
"I'll finish the chores," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Miriam rolled her eyes. "See that you do. And don't let me catch you slacking off again. You're not a child anymore, Emma. It's time you started acting like an adult and pulled your weight around here."
With that, Miriam turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Emma standing alone in the vast, empty hallway. Emma watched her go, her heart heavy with despair. She wanted to scream, to fight back, to tell Miriam that she was wrong—that she wasn't weak, that she wasn't a burden. But she had no energy left to fight.
Instead, she turned back to her chores, her movements slow and deliberate as she resumed cleaning. Each task felt like a monumental effort, but she refused to let herself collapse again. She couldn't afford to show any more weakness. Not now, not ever.
As the day dragged on, Emma's mind wandered to the days when her mother was still alive. Life had been so different then—filled with love, warmth, and laughter. Her brothers had adored her, her father had cherished her, and her grandfather had been her biggest supporter. But all of that had changed after her mother's death. Miriam had come into their lives like a storm, and everything had been turned upside down.
Now, all she had were memories—and even those were starting to fade.