Clara poured her heart out to Agatha, recounting the cruel reality she was being forced to face. Agatha listened intently, her chest heavy with sympathy. The story left her shaken, as Clara had always been one of the school's most beloved and diligent pupils.
"But isn't there something the principal can do about it?" Agatha asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
Clara shook her head, her gaze fixed on the floor. "No, Agatha. There's nothing anyone can do. Whatever my father orders is final. No complaints, no suggestions."
Her words carried the weight of resignation, and with that, Clara rose from the bed to pack her belongings.
There wasn't much to pack. A few clothes, some books, and her personal keepsakes were all that remained of her life at St. Margaret's. Yet, every item she folded felt like a small goodbye to a world she wished she could stay in forever. By the time she was done, she felt as though she had endured the longest, most heartbreaking task of her life.
The school bell rang, signaling recess, and students flooded out of their classrooms to enjoy their break. Clara's presence by the car park drew immediate attention. Whispers swept through the crowd as they noticed her loading a small suitcase into the trunk of a Toyota.
"What's going on?" someone murmured.
Martha, one of Clara's classmates, couldn't resist approaching. She walked toward Clara, intending to ask what was happening, but before she could get close, a hulking man stepped in her way. His rough demeanor and threatening glare sent her scurrying back. She barely caught a glimpse of Clara's tear-streaked face before retreating, the message clear in her mind—Clara was leaving, and it wasn't by choice.
Clara climbed into the backseat of the car, her face pressed against the window. As the vehicle sped away, she watched the school grounds shrink into the distance, memories flooding her mind. She thought back to the day her mother had brought her to St. Margaret's for the first time. She had been six years old, crying and kicking, unwilling to go to a convent school. Now, all she wanted was to stay.
The drive back to the house was long—two hours that felt like an eternity. The air inside the car was heavy with tension, her father's silence suffocating. The moment they arrived, Clara flung the car door open and ran inside before anyone else could follow.
She bolted to her room, slamming the door shut behind her, and threw herself onto her bed. The tears she had held back throughout the ride came rushing out in a torrent. She buried her face in her pillow, muffling the sounds of her sobs, as the weight of her situation crushed her. This was it. She was back in the house she had once called home, but it felt more like a prison.
The thought of being trapped here forever was unbearable.
Hours passed, and Clara cried herself to sleep. But a scream tore through the silence, jerking her awake. Disoriented, she sat up, her heart pounding. Then came another scream, raw and agonizing, echoing through the house.
Clara crept out of her room, her footsteps light as she followed the sound to the living room. Peeking around the corner, she froze at the sight before her.
Her mother lay sprawled on the cold floor, helpless and crying. Her father loomed over her, his face twisted with rage.
"No, please—" her mother begged, but the words were cut off as he delivered another brutal kick to her stomach.
Clara's breath caught in her throat. She clung to the wall, paralyzed, as the scene unfolded.
Her father turned and left the room for a moment, but Clara didn't dare move. When he returned, he held a leather whip in his hand. Without hesitation, he raised it high and brought it down with a crack that echoed like thunder.
Her mother's screams pierced the air, each one sharper than the last. The pain in her cries was unbearable, shattering Clara's composure. Tears streamed down her face as she hugged herself, sliding to the floor.
She buried her face in her knees, her body trembling as she tried to block out the horror. But the sounds—the crack of the whip, the screams of her mother—kept breaking through, tearing at her soul.
Clara wept silently, the weight of her father's cruelty crushing her spirit. She felt powerless, like a shadow in the corner, watching the nightmare unfold yet unable to stop it.
And so, the torment continued behind her, each sound searing itself into her memory.