I still remember the day Grandma stepped into the house. There was something about her—calm, stern, and audacious. Her voice alone had a way of keeping Grant in check. Since the moment she arrived, everything in my life began to shift. I finally had a place I could call home. Amilia became more than a guardian—she became a mother. Jessica? She turned into the sister I never had.
Grant, however, remained the same—grumpy, angry, and always hovering around Amilia. He was harsh with her, constantly dragging her into the bedroom. I often wondered what he really wanted from her, why he treated her the way he did. What was happening behind closed doors? But honestly, I stopped caring. For once, I had peace—and that peace meant the world to me.
Starting school again felt like a breath of fresh air. I'd forgotten how fun it could be. Sure, the other kids thought I was weird and often kept their distance, but it didn't bother me. I was learning something new every day, and that made me happy. Maybe, just maybe, school might help me finally answer that nagging question—how old am I really? That question still lingers in my mind.
The weeks after my adoption were some of the happiest I'd ever known. But then, Grandma announced she was leaving. I begged her to stay a little longer, but she shook her head with a gentle smile and said, "I promise, dear—I'll definitely return. Don't be sad." I stood in the doorway, watching her drive off in Grant's car on that rainy Saturday morning. Strangely, I noticed a flicker of satisfaction in Grant's expression as they pulled away.
Later, I sat quietly in my room, diary in hand. Yes, I had a diary—Mum (Amilia ) had taught me that writing down my day-to-day thoughts could help me process life. And she was right. The words flowed so easily. For the first time in forever, I had stopped thinking about my painful past. Well… almost. I could never forget Miss Cathy and Josephine. Maybe, just maybe, someday I'll find the courage to visit them.
The day flew by faster than I expected, and soon it was dinner time. The mouth-watering aroma drifting from the kitchen had me on my feet in seconds. I rushed downstairs, headed straight for the dining table, and took my seat—right across from Grant.
Our eyes met, and as always, his glare was filled with nothing but disgust. I quickly looked away, pretending not to notice, choosing instead to focus on the sounds coming from the kitchen.
Mom and Jessica soon walked out, each carrying trays loaded with plates and bowls. The smell got even stronger, and I couldn't help but smile with excitement. My stomach rumbled in anticipation.
"Calm down, dear," Amilia said with a gentle smile as she approached the table.
Grant scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Bloody glutton," he muttered with a loud hiss.
I ignored him—completely. All I could think about was the food.
Amilia placed a plate in front of me and gently dished some out.
"It's pudding!" I exclaimed happily.
She nodded, still smiling, then moved on to serve Grant.
That's when everything shifted.
As she leaned toward him, Grant suddenly grabbed her wrist. His other hand landed firmly on her backside—yes, I recently learned the word for it in school: "buttocks" . It was something he did too often, and it made my skin crawl every time.
"Why did you make this tonight, huh?" he asked with a cold sneer.
Amilia tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.
"Our daughter loves it," she replied calmly, her voice slightly shaky. "That's why I made it."
Grant's face twisted with rage. "What daughter? This vagabond? So now she's more important than your husband?" he yelled, his voice loud enough to shake the room.
I froze.
My spoon hovered in mid-air. Fear tightened its grip around my chest. The warmth and joy from moments ago vanished in an instant.
Amilia pulled herself from his grip and gave him a light smack on the shoulder.
"She's our daughter—mind your tongue!" she said, her voice calm but firm.
Grant's expression shifted instantly. His face flushed a deep red, fists clenched—and then, without warning, he slapped her.
Hard.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
I froze.
Amilia staggered, her hand flying to her cheek. The silence that followed was deafening. Even the ticking of the wall clock seemed to stop.
Grant stared at her, a twisted smirk curling on his lips.
"You've grown bold, woman," he sneered. "But I'm not here for food. There's something else I want—and you know exactly what that is."
He grabbed her again—this time with both hands, violating and shameless. The look on his face made my skin crawl.
Amilia shoved him back. "Get away from me, you pervert! I said no!"
Grant's smile disappeared, replaced by pure rage. With a furious shove, he pushed her to the ground and stormed out of the dining room.
I just sat there, heart pounding, fists clenched. I looked at Amilia—my mum—still on the floor, tears fighting their way down her face as she tried to stay strong. Like nothing had happened. But I saw it. We all saw it. And in that moment, something in me shifted.
Jessica rushed to her side, helping her up as she silently left the room.
And I sat there… staring at my plate, my chest tight. The peace I thought I had found—the happiness I finally felt—was beginning to unravel.
This house didn't feel like home anymore.