That night, I slept in the guest room—on the bare floor. There was no bed, no duvet, nothing to keep out the freezing cold. The floor was painfully hard, but I endured it; after all, I’d once lived on the streets, sleeping in abandoned buildings with nothing but my own strength to keep me warm. Still, I couldn’t understand what Ethan and his family hoped to achieve by treating me so cruelly.Lost in my thoughts, the sound of moans drifted from Ethan’s room. The woman he brought home screamed loudly, “Harder, baby. I’m all yours.” Whether she did it to spite me or not, the message was clear—and it stung. I pressed my hands tightly over my ears and forced myself to sleep, trying to shut out both the noise and the pain.The next morning, while I was cleaning the sitting room, a knock sounded at the door. It was a mailman. He handed me a letter—carelessly, almost dismissively—as if I were nothing more than a servant. Maybe he assumed I was, judging by the way I was dressed.I wanted to op
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