By the time Elara turned thirteen, she had become an expert at disappearing into the shadows of her own home. Every footstep, every sound, had to be measured. Her uncle's temper had grown sharper over the years, and Marissa, his spoiled daughter, took every opportunity to remind Elara of her "place" in the household.
Elara's world was a prison built of fear. Meals were sparse, laughter nonexistent, and any sign of defiance was met with punishment. Yet, she learned quickly that survival required more than hiding—she needed cunning. She memorized her uncle's moods, anticipating wrath before it arrived. She learned to smile at the right moments, speak only when spoken to, and disappear when danger loomed.
Her books were her only escape. She had discovered a few secondhand novels in a dusty corner of the local library and clung to them as if they were treasures. They spoke of worlds she had never seen—of families who loved, of friends who protected, of lives where fear was not constant. She read late into the night, hiding under the thin blanket that barely kept the cold away. Each story planted a tiny seed of hope, a whisper that maybe there was more to life than survival.
But hope was dangerous. Marissa sniffed it out like a predator. "Daydreaming again?" her cousin sneered one evening, shoving a stack of worn books to the floor. Elara lowered her gaze, letting the books fall without protest. She had learned that fighting back only invited pain.
Even at thirteen, Elara had begun to think about running away. It wasn't a sudden thought—it had been growing quietly in her chest for years. She imagined a life where she wasn't hiding, where she didn't flinch at raised voices, where she could breathe freely. The world outside, though unknown, felt safer than the walls she had always known.
That night, lying awake in her small, cold room, Elara made a silent promise to herself. One day, I will leave. One day, I will find a place where no one will ever hurt me again.
She didn't know how or when it would happen, but for the first time, fear was mingled with a tiny glimmer of determination. It was the first step toward freedom—and the first step toward meeting the family that would change her life forever.