Chapter 2: The Sweet Lie

Aera pov : The cramped kitchen smelled like burnt grease, old smoke, and harsh pine cleaner strong enough to sting my nose. Rain hammered against the dirty kitchen window while thunder rolled low across the sky outside, rattling the thin glass. The storm had settled over town hours ago, turning everything cold, dark, and miserable. I pushed the front door shut behind me carefully, wincing when the old hinges let out a loud, painful creak. Water dripped from my soaked coat onto the worn linoleum beneath my feet. My hair clung heavily to my face and neck, freezing rain still sliding down my skin. Without my glasses, the kitchen looked soft and blurred around the edges. Not completely blind. Just unfocused. The broken pieces of the frames sat inside my coat pocket like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode my life the second Arthur found out. Still, I didn’t need perfect vision to survive here. I knew this house too well. Every creaking floorboard. Every loose cabinet handle. Every dangerous mood shift. “Look what the stray dragged in.” Arthur’s rough voice instantly tightened every muscle in my body. I stopped breathing for half a second before lowering my head automatically. Arthur stood near the living room doorway holding a half-empty beer bottle in one hand. The sharp smell of cheap alcohol filled the kitchen before he even stepped closer. “You’re dripping mud all over my damn floor,” he snapped. I glanced down. Rainwater and dirt had already formed a small puddle beneath my shoes. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Nineteen years,” Arthur muttered bitterly, shaking his head. “Nineteen years feeding you and clothing you, and you still can’t remember basic manners.” He took another heavy step toward me. “Get the bucket.” Fear curled tightly inside my stomach. “Yes, Arthur.” I moved immediately. The metal bucket sat beneath the sink where it always did. My frozen fingers shook slightly while I filled it with hot water and soap. Steam curled into the cold air around me. Then I dropped to my knees on the hard kitchen floor and started scrubbing. The rough brush scraped painfully against my already cracked hands as I cleaned the muddy footprints near the doorway. Arthur stayed standing over me. Watching. Waiting. His heavy work boot slowly moved closer to the bucket beside me. I braced instinctively. Waiting for the kick. Waiting for the water to spill so he could scream. But before it happened— A soft hand touched his shoulder. “Arthur, leave the poor girl alone. She’s freezing.” Martha. Relief hit me so fast it almost hurt. My foster mother stepped quietly into the kitchen wearing her faded floral apron, her soft perfume immediately cutting through the smell of alcohol and cleaner. Arthur looked annoyed instantly. “She tracked mud everywhere,” he grumbled. “She just walked home through a storm,” Martha replied calmly. Arthur muttered something under his breath before finally stepping away. A few seconds later, his heavy footsteps disappeared down the hallway, followed by the loud slam of the living room door. Silence filled the kitchen again. The tension disappeared with him. I released a shaky breath slowly. Martha knelt beside me on the floor, her expression soft with concern. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured gently. “You’re shaking.” She reached over and tucked a wet strand of brown hair behind my ear carefully. The simple touch nearly broke me. No matter how many cruel things happened in this house, Martha always made me feel safe afterward. Then her eyes shifted slightly. “Where are your glasses?” My heartbeat stumbled painfully. I forced myself to stay calm. “I dropped them at school,” I lied quietly. “They broke.” Martha frowned. “Oh no…” “I’ll fix them,” I added quickly. “I can use glue or tape again. I’ll clean extra tonight.” For a moment, Martha simply stared at me. Then unexpectedly— She smiled. A strange smile. Soft. Almost excited. “Don’t worry about the glasses, Aera,” she said gently. “You won’t need them much longer anyway.” My hand froze against the scrub brush. “What do you mean?” Martha glanced toward the hallway to make sure Arthur wasn’t nearby. Then she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small foil-wrapped package. The smell hit me instantly. Cinnamon. Sugar. Bread. A cinnamon roll. My empty stomach twisted painfully with hunger. “I saved it for you,” she whispered warmly, slipping it into my hands. “Eat before Arthur comes back.” Emotion tightened my throat immediately. “Thank you…” Martha smiled proudly before lowering her voice. “And there’s more good news.” Something inside my chest tightened instantly. “Derrick is coming over tonight.” The warmth disappeared from my body completely. My fingers tightened unconsciously around the cinnamon roll. “Derrick?” I repeated carefully. Martha nodded happily. “Yes, sweetheart. Everything is settled now.” Settled. The word felt wrong immediately. “He agreed,” she continued softly. “Tomorrow night, you’ll leave with him.” My stomach dropped. “What…?” “He’s going to take care of you now,” Martha explained gently, as if she were describing something beautiful. “You’ll finally have a proper home. A husband. Stability.” I stared at her silently. The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Derrick. Tall. Sweaty. Always staring too long. The way his eyes crawled over me every time he visited made my skin feel dirty for hours afterward. He never looked at me like a person. He looked at me like something he already owned. “He has a beautiful house two towns over,” Martha continued happily. “You won’t have to scrub floors anymore. You’ll be a wife now.” My chest tightened painfully. Something deep inside me screamed that this was wrong. Dangerous. Terrifying. But Martha looked so proud. So genuinely happy for me. We take care of each other in this house. The words echoed through my mind. I love you like my own. I looked down at the cinnamon roll in my hands while nausea twisted violently inside my stomach. Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was simply what happened to girls like me. Girls nobody wanted. Girls who owed everything to the people who fed them. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” Martha asked softly. I looked up slowly. Her expression was filled with warmth and expectation. Hope. And despite the fear crawling beneath my skin… I couldn’t disappoint her. So I forced a small smile onto my face. “Thank you, Martha,” I whispered quietly. Because what else could I say? She had fed me. Protected me. Shown me kindness when nobody else ever had. If enduring Derrick made Martha happy… Then I would endure it. Just like I endured everything else.