Novel & Cerita Stepsister Stuck In Washing Machine

“Can you wash and dry them then? While I clean her up? They need to shrink a bit.” I took the tiny pajamas from her without any objection and strode down to the laundry room. I popped them into the washing machine, set it on a hot cycle, and then stood there, drumming my fingers impatiently on the metal lid while it hummed to life. The domestic normality of the task felt utterly bizarre against the backdrop of the night we'd had.

His breathing is ragged, harsh gasps that tear out of his chest. He stays there for a long time. The washing machine clicks into a new cycle. The water rushes in. Whoosh. Slowly, the tension leaves his frame. But it isn't replaced by satisfaction. It is replaced by a heavy, crushing weight. He pulls away. He steps back. He fixes his clothes with trembling hands. He looks at me. I am still sitting on the machine. My skirt is torn. My neck is bleeding sluggishly. My hair is a mess. But my face is blank.

She didn't seem to mind though and handed me a toolkit and the same black-handled screwdriver from before. "Go check what's wrong with the washing machine…" she said. I took the screwdriver and slowly walked toward the bathroom. Felicia followed closely, nudging me along. "Hurry up, honey. My pink dress is still in the wash." The water heater was filling up, and none of the power sources were switched off. I glanced back at Felicia. She was wearing rubber gloves and boots, completely protected, while I had no protection whatsoever. It was just like before. My wife couldn't wait to see me dead!

I needed this shirt to be absolutely perfect, purely clean and white, just like he demanded. With a shaky breath, I tossed the damp shirt into the drum of the washing machine, measuring out the detergent with precise care. I shut the lid, set the dial to a delicate cycle, and hit the start button. The machine groaned to life, the sound of rushing water filling the small room, echoing the chaotic, racing thoughts inside my head. As the water began to swirl, I could only lean against the machine, staring blindly at the lid and praying to whatever universe was listening that Nathan's video would never see the light of day. The washing machine hummed, filling the small laundry room with a rhythm

’ Sonya elevated the wooden case out from the water basin and rubbed it with the towel to make it dry. She put all her dirty clothes into the washing machine and cleaned the clothes immediately. She stared at the case carefully and her fingers rubbed its crafted surface. Then, she put the case into her knitted bag after she heard the alarm of the washing machine sound as the cleaning process and the draining process just finished.

She had soap on her face so she couldn’t speak. After a few minutes, Stephanie walked out of the bathroom tied in a towel that stopped right above her knees. Her hair was dripping wet, and she had another towel in her hand to dry it up. “Mom! Is that ready?” She asked, walking out of the room, rubbing her damp hair with the towel in her hand. She got to the living room and saw her mother ironing her blue office pants. “Thank you so much, mother. I am in a rush.” She rushed to where she placed the t-shirt and picked it up.

Her injured palm stung every time the brush rubbed against it. The mansion sparkled from top to bottom because of her hard work. Yet no one ever thanked her. She cleaned. She cooked. She washed clothes. She ironed. She tended the garden. She even polished Sophia’s designer shoes. Still… She was reminded every single day that she was “worthless.” As she carried a basket of freshly folded laundry upstairs, she paused outside a familiar door. Her old bedroom. The white wooden door was slightly open. Inside, Sophia was trying on a new evening gown in front of a full-length mirror.

“The washing machine’s broken.” I froze. “What?” “It broke yesterday,” she murmured breezily. “Peter from the packhouse can fix it... later. In the meantime, take the laundry down to the river bend and wash it by hand.” I stared at her, numb. She was serious. Of course she was. Ama didn’t joke. Not when it came to making my life a living hell. I said nothing, biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood. Without a word, I dumped the baskets by the stairwell and stalked to the laundry room for soap.

It was the first time since the other day we last saw each other like this. “Thane?” she said, glancing at her wristwatch. “What are you doing here this…” “I’m here for my stepsister,” I cut in calmly. Or at least, as calm as I could manage. “Can you tell her I’m waiting outside?” This house… Even the smell of it brought back memories I didn’t want. Memories that could drive me insane if I stayed longer. Wendy pressed her lips together, then sighed. “What if I told you she’s with my brother?”

'Of course, I will," I replied and she scoffed. She left. Why was she hard at me? So harsh and cruel. I stood, looking at her. Even in my pack and Damon's pack, I have never been asleep to wash so many clothes. "What? What are you waiting for? Get to work now." I only nodded and walked to the big bucket. "Lazy bone!" She scoffed and walked away. I proceeded to the washing machine to turn it off because there was no way I would wash these clothes with my bare hands. I dumped some clothes into the washing machine and I added the necessary things. I closed it and turned it on, only for me to discover that the wires connected to the washing machines had been disconnected. I went to inspect it. S