ELLEN POV
After parting with Benjie, Ellen walked home with a hollow heart. Each step weighed heavy, her mind preparing itself for the inevitable pain that awaited her. It was never just the sting of blows, but the deeper scars no one could see—the bruises left on her spirit.
She whispered a prayer as she often did, fragile yet steady: that one day her family would accept her, that love might finally find its way into their fractured home.
The door creaked open, and with it, her fragile hope shattered.
A hand struck her face with such force that blood instantly filled her mouth. Her father gripped her hair, yanking her forward, his rage unrelenting. Another slap cracked against her skin. Before she could even cry out, her older brother's foot drove into her stomach, folding her in half, and another strike followed, blurring her vision as tears spilled down her cheeks.
"You are the worst mistake I ever raised!" her father roared, his voice trembling with fury. "I gave you food, clothes, life—and all you've ever given back is shame. A useless, filthy girl!"
The words stung deeper than any blow. Ellen's mind reeled. What are they talking about? What have I done now?
Her father's eyes burned with a final glare. "Maybe I was right never to call you, my daughter." With that, he stormed away, leaving her crumpled and bewildered.
On the stairs, Justin's cold voice followed. "You should never have come back, Ellen. Don't blame us. Everything wrong in this family—it's your fault." Then he disappeared, leaving only silence behind.
Ellen sank onto the sofa, her body trembling, her heart splintering with each unanswered question. Was her life meant to be nothing but suffering? Was there truly no place for her in the world?
Minutes blurred into hours before she found the strength to climb the stairs. Each step was heavier than the last, but she pushed forward until she reached the sanctuary of her room.
Alone, tears spilled freely. Her body ached, but the wound in her heart throbbed far worse. She collapsed onto the bed, curling into herself, sobbing until exhaustion overtook her.
Sleep claimed her at last, her wounds still burning, her heart still searching for a reason to endure.
NELY POV
After Ellen asked permission to skip school that day, I couldn't shake off the worry. Something still not bounds to calm at me, a weight in my chest. I pitied her deeply—this was nothing new. For as long as I could remember, she had endured not only harsh words but also the sting of her family's hands.
Hours passed, and Ellen still had not returned. My mind wandered back to the time they locked her in a dark room for days, starving her until she was barely breathing. Even now, I could not understand how her own family could be so cruel.
The cheerful little angel she once was had slowly withered. Rejection had shaped her, hardened her. Outside their home, none of the Natividad even dared to acknowledge her. To them, Ellen was a stain on their name, a disgrace to their family.
"Benjie, what brings you here?" I asked when I noticed him standing at the door, his face damp with sweat and worry. He must have come straight from school, searching for Ellen.
"Where is Ellen?" he asked, breathless.
I wasn't wrong. He was here for her.
"I don't know where she went. She told me earlier she was going out and wouldn't be going to class," I answered.
"Did something happen again?" His voice carried an edge of worry. I wanted to tell him everything, but it wasn't my place. Ellen's pain was hers to reveal, not mine.
"Benjie, could you try to find her and bring her back? Her father might start asking questions soon."
"All right, Nely," he said firmly before running off.
Benjie was the only one in that family who treated Ellen with kindness. Still, even that comfort was not enough to ease the storm inside me.
Later, as I prepared dinner, the front door swung open. My heart leapt—I thought Ellen had returned.
But it wasn't her. It was Sir Fernan, her father, his eyes dark and burning with fury.
"Where's Ellen?" he demanded.
"Ah… she said she might visit a classmate," I stammered. But my answer only deepened the shadows on his face.
"Nely, don't you dare cover for that girl."
"Sir, I'm not—I'm only telling you what she said."
"Really, Nely?" Alaiza cut in, stepping forward with her mother Carolina and her two brothers.
"Y-yes…" I faltered.
"That's why she thinks she can get away with anything—because of you," Carolina spat. "Don't lie to us. We talked to Mrs. Salve. That shameless girl doesn't even spare Cynthia's husband!"
"Ma'am, I—"
"From now on, I don't want you siding with that girl. Do you understand? Or do you want to lose your job?"
"Yes, Ma'am…" I forced the words out.
They finished dinner and climbed upstairs, leaving only Sir Fernan and Justin, the eldest son, in the living room.
From the kitchen doorway, I saw everything. How they hurt my poor Ellen. Two sharp slaps from her father left angry red marks on her face. Then came a kick, followed by another blow from her brother.
She bent in pain, tears streaming freely, her eyes wide with silent questions. Questions that would never be answered. And the only word I saw written in them was why.
Before walking away, they spat words I never imagined parents could say to their own child.
I wanted to rush to her, but the cameras in the house kept me frozen in place. All I could do was weep quietly, hidden away, as I watched her drag herself up the stairs to her room.
That night, I could not sleep. At dawn, I went to the kitchen—and there she was, preparing breakfast for the very family who broke her.
I wanted to ask how she was, but her mother's warning still echoed in my ears.
On her pale skin, bruises stood stark against her complexion. Yet she moved silently, as if nothing had happened.
I watched from the corner, every careful step of hers as delicate as though she were sneaking through her own home like a thief.
When the family finished eating, Ellen sat alone at the table, slowly eating the scraps they had left behind.
It felt as if a thousand needles pierced my heart as I watched her.
ELLEN POV
I woke up early and started my chores at home. I stayed quiet when Nely stepped out.
It felt strange—she usually greeted me every morning. Maybe she already knew what Dad told me last night. I decided not to dwell on it and just focused on my tasks.
When my family had finished eating, they left one after another. I sat down at the table and ate the leftovers they had left behind. Once done, I cleared the dishes, washed them carefully, and got myself ready for school.
The long stretch of highway to campus lay ahead. On foot, it usually took around thirty minutes from our house to Natheville National High School.
By then, I was already in Grade 11. An outcast—not only at home, but at school as well.