The fragile hope that had warmed Sonia on her walk home evaporated the moment she stepped through the gate. Amelia was waiting for her, arms crossed, a look of cold fury on her face.
"Where have you been, you good-for-nothing girl?" she hissed.
Before Sonia could even form a lie, the blows began. Amelia beat her badly, her hands striking with a pent-up rage, fueled by suspicion and sheer malice. She slapped her, pulled her hair, and rained insults down on her, calling her a wayward, useless child.
It was at the peak of this assault that Claudius arrived home from work.
He walked in to see his wife violently disciplining his teenage daughter. For a split second, a spark of outrage flared in him—but it was quickly smothered by habit and a desire for domestic peace.
Seeing her husband's hesitation, Amelia immediately switched tactics. She burst into theatrical tears, a master of manipulation.
"Claudius! Thank God you are here!" she wailed, pointing a trembling finger at a cowering Sonia. "See what your daughter has done! I cooked a pot of soup with a big piece of meat for our family. I turned my back, and this thief… this thief has stolen all the meat from the pot! She has greedily eaten everything!"
It was a blatant, ridiculous lie. But Amelia delivered it with such conviction.
Claudius, tired and unwilling to delve into the messy truth, turned his anger onto the easiest target. He didn't look at the pot. He didn't ask Sonia for her side of the story. He didn't see the truth in her terrified, bruised face.
"IS THIS TRUE?" he roared at Sonia.
Sonia, trembling, her body aching from the beating, could only stare at the floor. To deny it would mean more punishment from Amelia later, worse than what her father would do. Fear sealed her lips. Her silence, in Claudius's eyes, was a confession.
Enraged by this perceived theft and disrespect, Claudius joined in the punishment. He beat Sonia for stealing, layering his own violence on top of the bruises Amelia had already inflicted.
That night, as Sonia lay on her thin mattress, her body a map of pain from both her stepmother and her father, a profound change occurred within her. The last flicker of hope for her father's love died. The fear that had paralyzed her began to harden into a cold, steely resolve.
He did not hear her side of the story. He had chosen his wife's lie over his daughter's truth. In that moment, he was no longer just a weak man; he was an enemy.
The approach of Christmas, a time of joy for others, only deepened Sonia's misery. The final blow came when her stepmother, Amelia, returned from the market with a vibrant display of new clothes for her sons, Liam and Oliver. She paraded the boys in their new outfits, their laughter a sharp contrast to Sonia's silent shame. She had nothing new to wear. She was invisible.
Driven by a desperate need for dignity, Sonia once again made the journey to her mother's house, hoping for just a small piece of fabric, a token to make her feel less forgotten.
But when she arrived, the welcome was different. The warmth from the previous visit had cooled. Stella looked stressed, her eyes darting towards the house where her new husband was.
"Sonia," Stella said, pulling her aside, her voice low and urgent, not with concern, but with anxiety. "You cannot come here time to time like this. My husband… he is asking questions. It is causing trouble for me."
The words landed like physical blows, each one more crushing than Amelia's beatings.
"But Mama… Christmas… my stepmother bought clothes for her sons, and I have nothing," Sonia whispered, her voice breaking.
Stella's face hardened, a mask of self-preservation forged from her own past pain. The kindness was gone, replaced by a cold practicality.
"And what do you want me to do?" Stella snapped, the resentment she'd held against Claudius now spilling onto her daughter. "Look at what your father has done to me! He is the one who has all my children! He drove me out of my own home! Why are you bringing these your problems to me? Go and tell your father!"
In that moment, Sonia understood. Her mother didn't just see a daughter in need. She saw a walking, talking reminder of Claudius's betrayal, a problem that threatened her hard-won new life. The love was poisoned by a history of hate.
Sonia turned and walked away. No tears this time. The well was dry. She was completely and utterly alone. The hatred her mother held for her father had finally, completely, extended to her.
She had no home with her father, who beat her for lies. She had no refuge with her mother, who saw her as a burden. She was fifteen years old, standing on a precipice, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to. The frustration and pain crystallized into a single, terrifying realization: she was on her own.