[The following morning]
Carmela woke to the sound of laughter echoing through the empty halls. It wasn't the kind of laughter that filled a home with warmth. No, it was cold. It bounced off the walls like a cruel reminder of her place in this house—a place she didn't belong.
Her joints screamed as she moved, the ache of each step reminding her of the days she'd spent in this prison. She had no energy to cry anymore. There were no more tears. Just exhaustion, both physical and emotional, that weighed her down like a hundred-pound stone.
She pulled herself from the bed, the thin pre-morning gown clinging to her tired frame, and made her way to the balcony. The house was eerily still, except for the sound of laughter spilling into the living room below.
"You're awake!" Samsons voice rang out, full of false cheer. Carmela's hand gripped the railing, her fingers white against the wood. "Meet Evelyn, my new wife. Isn't it nice?"
Carmela's breath caught in her chest. Her eyes landed on the woman standing beside Samson—
a vision of poise and perfection. Evelyn looked like she belonged to a world far removed from Carmela's reality, her delicate features illuminated by the soft morning light, her blue eyes shimmering with that aristocratic air Carmela had always despised. The woman's skin was flawless, porcelain-like, her pink lips slightly curled into a smile. She was everything Carmela was not—and everything she could never hope to be in this world.
Evelyn turned, her gaze settling on Carmela, as if measuring her, her voice a soft lilt that couldn't have been more out of place.
"Hi, I'm Evelyn. Nice to meet you."
Carmela didn't say a word. She couldn't. Her throat was dry, and the last thing she wanted was to engage with this woman. Instead, she turned and headed for the kitchen, her footsteps slow and deliberate, each one a reminder of how small she had become.
Evelyn followed her, the sound of her heels clicking softly against the floor.
"Can I help you with something?" she asked, her voice laced with an unsettling sweetness.
Carmela's jaw clenched. She didn't need help. Not from her, not from anyone. She didn't need anything anymore except to get through the day without breaking down.
"No," Carmela said, her voice barely a whisper. "Just stay out of my way."
She walked past Evelyn, who seemed undeterred. Carmela's heart pounded as she made her way to the counter, her fingers brushing over the cool surface. She needed caffeine, something—anything—to keep her going. Her life had become nothing but a haze of pain and numbness, and coffee was the only thing that still had the power to ground her.
But before she could reach the coffee maker, she felt Evelyn's hand on her arm, yanking her back with surprising force. The room spun for a moment, the blood rushing to her head. "Going somewhere?" Evelyn's voice was different now—hard, commanding.
Carmela twisted her arm in an attempt to free herself. "Let go of me."
Evelyn didn't budge. Instead, she shoved Carmela to the ground. Hard.
Carmela gasped as her knees hit the cold floor, pain shooting through her body. She looked up just in time to see Evelyn squatting in front of her, the smile on her lips now gone, replaced with something colder, something almost… sinister.
"Oops," Evelyn said, her voice a mockery of innocence. "Didn't mean to push you down that hard."
Carmela's chest tightened as she scrambled to push herself up. She didn't care about the pain anymore. She didn't care about the humiliation. She just needed to get out of this moment.
But Evelyn wasn't done. She reached for the coffee maker jar, her fingers curling around it with a casual ease that made Carmela's blood run cold.
"You were saying something?" Evelyn's voice dropped, a dangerous edge creeping into her tone. "I should stay out of your path? You should stay out of mine, Carmela."
Before Carmela could react, Evelyn lifted the jar, her eyes gleaming with malice. The jar tipped, the hot coffee splashing across Carmela's thighs. The searing burn took her breath away, and she screamed.
The sound was muffled by the thick walls of the house, but Carmela knew—Samson and his family had heard it. They had heard her cry out, heard her in pain, and they did nothing. Nothing. The house was silent after that, save for the distant hum of life continuing around her.
For two weeks, Carmela's world was reduced to this—bruises and burns, silence and isolation. Samson never intervened. His family turned a blind eye, pretending it wasn't happening, pretending everything was fine. But it wasn't fine. It hadn't been for a long time.
The torture went on. Evelyn and her perfect smile. Something's indifference. Samson's absence. The surgeries for her mother delayed over and over, until it seemed like even hope had stopped trying to find her. Every movement was watched, every step monitored. She was a prisoner in her own home, unable to escape, unable to even cry for help.
But there was something in Carmela now. A quiet anger. A burning ache in her chest that refused to go out. A defiance that, even after everything, couldn't be snuffed out.
One night, when the house was dark and silent, Carmela lay in bed, her body aching, her heart heavy. She should have been broken by now, or at least subdued. But she wasn't. She wasn't broken. Not yet.
With the thought of her mother's face—the pain she felt at seeing her suffer because of Samson's decisions—Carmela rose. It wasn't a loud decision, nothing dramatic. It was a small whisper in her soul that told her: Enough.
She wasn't going to sit here and take it anymore.
She wasn't going to let Evelyn, or anyone else, take her spirit.
That night, as the sounds of the family drifted from the living room, Carmela found herself standing at the door to the kitchen once more, staring at the knives. The cold metal felt like a promise, but not the kind of promise she had feared. It was a symbol of strength—not violence, but the realization that she wasn't powerless. Not anymore.
When Evelyn appeared at the door again, her eyes gleaming with that same arrogant confidence, Carmela didn't flinch. She didn't look away. Instead, she met Evelyn's gaze, her own eyes burning with quiet fury.
"Stay out of my path," Carmela said, her voice steady. It wasn't a plea, nor a threat. It was a statement of fact.
Evelyn hesitated, her smirk faltering for a moment before it returned, thinner, sharper. "We'll see about that."
But Carmela didn't care. The game had changed. The rules were no longer in their favor.