Celeste stood by the corner of the dimly lit kitchen, the harsh fluorescent light casting long shadows on the cracked walls. Her aunt, Lillian, loomed over her, arms crossed, her face twisted in displeasure.
"Celeste! How many times do I have to tell you to iron those uniforms? My children can't go to school looking like vagabonds!" Lillian's voice was sharp and accusing.
Celeste, her head bowed, pointed to the neatly pressed uniforms hanging on the back of the door. "I've already ironed them, Aunt Lillian. They're ready."
Lillian's expression didn't soften. If anything, her frown deepened. "Don't talk back to me! Just because you've done one thing doesn't mean you're off the hook. You think this house runs itself? I've half a mind to throw you out if you can't keep up with your duties!"
"I'm sorry," Celeste whispered, barely audible.
"Sorry won't get the work done!" Lillian snapped. "There's still crumbs on the kitchen counter, and don't get me started on the bathroom. You're lucky we're kind enough to keep you here after what your parents left us with. Honestly, debt and a burden."
That word—burden—stung more than any insult. Celeste's fingers tightened around the hem of her worn-out dress, her nails digging into the fabric to stop her tears from falling.
She had heard the story countless times, ever since she had arrived at her father's relatives' house thirteen years ago. Her parents, she was told, had left behind a significant debt when they died in a car accident. Uncle Simon and Aunt Lillian had taken her in, but not out of kindness.
"You have to stay here and work," Lillian had told her the first day she arrived, her small hands clutching a ragged doll for comfort. "Your parents owe us, and it's your responsibility to pay it off. You should be grateful we didn't leave you on the streets."
For years, Celeste believed it. She scrubbed floors, cooked meals, and catered to her cousins' every whim. As she grew older, she began to notice things: the debt, supposedly her parents' legacy, had been repaid years ago. Yet the work never stopped, and the scolding never lessened.
"Why are you standing there like a statue? Move!" Lillian's sharp voice broke through her thoughts. "The kitchen won't clean itself, and if I find a single speck of dust, you won't get dinner tonight!"
"Yes, Aunt Lillian," Celeste replied quietly, hurrying to the sink. She washed the dishes in silence, her hands moving automatically as her mind wandered.
Dinner wasn't much of an incentive. She rarely ate the food that was prepared fresh for the family. Most nights, she was given leftovers—cold, stale scraps that barely filled her stomach.
She glanced out the small window above the sink. The night sky stretched vast and endless, the stars twinkling faintly. Somewhere out there, a better life awaited her. She didn't know where or how, but she clung to the hope that it existed.
"Celeste!" A high-pitched voice called out, and she turned to see her cousin, Daisy, storming into the kitchen. "Where's my uniform? I don't see it hanging in my closet!"
"It's by the door," Celeste said softly, pointing again to the neatly pressed clothes.
Daisy rolled her eyes. "Next time, put it in my room. And make sure my shoes are polished. Honestly, you're so lazy."
Celeste nodded, biting back a retort. She had learned long ago that standing up for herself only made things worse.
After finishing in the kitchen, she climbed the narrow staircase to her small room in the attic. The room was little more than a glorified storage space. The walls were bare, and the single window was cracked, letting in a draft that made her shiver on cold nights.
She sank onto the thin mattress on the floor, her body aching from the day's work. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought about the life she had been forced to endure. Thirteen years of servitude, scoldings, and loneliness. The only solace she found was in the rare moments when she could sit quietly and dream of a different future.
Celeste pulled out an old, tattered notebook from beneath her pillow. It was one of the few belongings she had managed to keep from her childhood. She opened it to a blank page and began to write:
"Dear Mom and Dad, I miss you so much. Sometimes I wonder if you can see me from wherever you are. Are you proud of me? I try to be strong, but it's so hard. Aunt Lillian says I'm here to pay your debt, but I don't believe her anymore. I think she just wants me to stay and work for free. I don't know how much longer I can do this. I feel so trapped. I wish you were here. I wish I could leave. Love, Celeste."
A tear smudged the ink as it fell onto the page. Celeste wiped her eyes and closed the notebook.
She lay back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger was a familiar companion.
As the house grew quiet, she allowed herself to cry silently. She cried for the parents she had lost, for the childhood she never got to enjoy, and for the future that seemed so far out of reach.
But deep inside her, a small flame of determination burned. She couldn't stay here forever. She wouldn't.
One day, she promised herself, she would leave this house and never look back. She didn't know when or how, but she would find a way.
For now, she would endure. But one day, she would be free.
As the first light of dawn crept through the window, Celeste wiped away the remnants of her tears and prepared herself for another day. Another day of servitude, but also another day closer to the life she dreamed of.
She didn't know that soon, her life was about to change in ways she could never imagine.