46 Chapter 46 Old Wounds Reopen
The door burst open without warning. 1
“No one could ever love such a useless child,” she continued, stepping closer until I could smell the staleness on her breath. “No one loves a child who cannot accomplish basic chores.”
“Your mother?” I understood avoiding Roxanne given her toxic nature, but his mother confused me.
“I tried so hard, Mama,” I whispered, my voice breaking with defeat.
Perched on the edge of the bed, I felt the sudden rush of memories I had buried deep. It was that horrible feeling of being insignificant and worthless. Roxanne’s cutting remarks and blatant disrespect today had pried open a door I had sealed shut years ago.
“Listen carefully, Seraphina. You need to keep your distance from her,” Julian declared, his tone cold and commanding. “And you need to stay away from my mother as well.”
“Seraphina? What happened?” he demanded, moving toward me with urgent steps. His presence offered the comfort I craved, and I felt ready to share my painful past.
I watched the murky water disappear down the drain, my arms trembling from hours of scrubbing. Sweat trickled down my temples despite the chill, but I pushed through the exhaustion. The stubborn corner by the heavy wooden table demanded extra attention, and I attacked it with determination that only a desperate child could muster.
My heart sank into my stomach.
My throat constricted painfully. Breathing became a struggle.
Those words burrowed into my soul like poison, destroying the fragile hope that lived in my small heart.
“Do not pretend ignorance. I am referring to the things you said directly to my mother,” he accused, a low growl creeping into his voice. His stare was glacial, completely devoid of the compassion I desperately needed. “I know exactly what occurred, and I know what you told her.”
“I never said anything to your mother,” I stammered, shaking my head frantically. “I
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would never show such disrespect. I would never-”
Freezing dirty liquid cascaded across my pristine floor, soaking my bare feet and splashing up my legs. A wave of the foul mixture struck my face, seeping into my eye and trickling down my chin. The stench was overwhelming – rancid grease mixed with sour milk and grime.
“You dare call this clean?” she snarled, dropping the bucket with a crash that made me flinch. “Look at this mess, Seraphina. Look at all the dirt you missed. You didn’t even attempt to do it properly.”
My head jerked sideways, and the tears stopped instantly, replaced by a terrified whimper. Stars danced across my vision.
The sting of that slap still burned on my skin.
Without hesitation, she upended the container.
The outburst lasted only seconds.
She never glanced at the spotless floor. Her gaze fixed solely on me, those dark eyes burning with an icy rage that made no sense to my young mind. The bucket I had just emptied dangled from her grip, remnants of grimy water and debris still clinging to the
bottom.
A vicious slap exploded across my cheek. The sharp crack echoed through the kitchen, stealing my breath completely.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I spun around. “Mama, I finished everything. I scrubbed every single inch-”
“Roxanne,” I managed to whisper, her name catching in my throat.
“There will be no dramatics in my home,” she hissed, her face mere inches from mine. “Stand up. Clean it again. And if I hear even the smallest sob, you will spend the entire night on this floor.”
When I finally stood back to admire my handiwork, pride swelled in my chest. The floor gleamed under the dim overhead light – a masterpiece in the eyes of an eight-year-old. I turned toward the doorway, ready to call for my mother’s approval, when the back door exploded inward.
The familiar weight of old grief settled over me like a suffocating blanket. I recognized this feeling instantly – the same crushing sensation that used to steal my breath when
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< 46 Chapter 46 Old Wounds Reopen
I lived under my adoptive mother’s roof.
I stood paralyzed, stunned by the sudden assault of cold filth.
I gasped, jerking back to reality. My body trembled as I clutched my knees against my chest. The bedsheets felt coarse beneath my palms, and the room tilted dangerously. I was no longer that helpless child, but the terror remained just as raw and consuming. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks – not the loud wails of childhood, but the quiet kind that revealed deep wounds.
Her voice sliced through the air like a blade. “What kind of disaster is this?”
I despised how Roxanne’s casual cruelty today had triggered this avalanche of pain, another confirmation that I would never measure up in this pack.
That was when I shattered completely. The realization that my own mother found me unlovable, that I was a total failure, ripped through my innocent spirit. I did not simply cry – a wild, desperate anguish erupted from my throat. I covered my face with my arms and dissolved into hysterical sobs, the sound of a child’s world collapsing.
Julian strode into the room, freezing when he spotted me. His face, typically set in determined lines, softened momentarily before hardening with confusion.
I stared at the destruction she had created, then back at her face. My hours of careful work were destroyed. My effort meant nothing.
I was eight years old again, my bony knees pressed against the freezing kitchen linoleum. The threadbare fabric of my pajamas did nothing to shield me from the cold seeping through the floor. My small hands gripped the rough scrub brush as I worked tirelessly to clean every inch of that worn surface. The acrid scent of Pine-Sol stung my nostrils, but I welcomed it – it meant I was doing something right.
His expression darkened immediately, his eyes flashing with anger. He did not wait for further explanation.
The past crashed over me without warning.
Seraphina’s POV
Relief flooded through me that I would not have to explain everything – he must already know what transpired, and his presence here meant everything to me.
“Hard?” Her laughter was cruel and hollow. “You are completely worthless. A burden on this household. You cannot even handle the simplest task correctly. You will never
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amount to anything, Seraphina. You will never be worthy of anything good.”
My mother never spoke with gentleness. Every word was weaponized, designed to wound.
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