Her Pain, Her struggles
****
"Get up from that mat, you piece of trash!" A familiar voice tore me from my sleep, sharper and angrier than ever. I knew exactly who it was—my stepmother, Emilia.
I wanted to leap up the moment I heard her, but my body betrayed me. My bones ached, and exhaustion from the previous night's work weighed me down. I could only manage to crack my eyes open, unable to muster the strength to rise.
My family belonged to the Midnight Pack, and we were all anxiously awaiting the full moon tomorrow. It wasn't just any full moon—it marked the pack's two-hundredth anniversary, and the celebration was going to be enormous. Every household was determined to outshine the others, cleaning meticulously and preparing the finest meals.
In my house, I was the only one doing all the work, even though I had two other siblings who were more than capable. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. They were my step-siblings, and their mother made sure all the chores fell on me.
"Are you trying to tempt the devil this afternoon?" Emilia's voice rang out, sharp and unforgiving, just before she drove her foot into my stomach. The pain jolted through me, and my body, driven by instinct and fear, finally obeyed. My stomach churned with the combined ache of hunger and the blow as I struggled to rise from the mat.
Emilia stood over me, her cheeks flushed with anger, hands planted on her hips. She looked ready to pounce, to unleash the kind of beating I knew all too well—one no one would bat an eye at because, in their eyes, it was what I deserved for killing my mother.
"Mother, I-I..." I began, but she cut me off before I could finish.
"Hailey McCall, who is your mother?" she snapped, her voice laced with venom. The very word was an insult to her, a reminder that she had to share a house with me. But my father insisted I call her that, no matter how much she loathed it.
Emilia had warned me countless times never to call her "mother" when my father wasn't around. It was a rule that weighed heavily on me, an impossible situation to navigate. Sometimes, I’d slip up and call her "madam" even in my father's presence, and the consequences were brutal. The beatings that followed were the worst.
"No one…" I managed to whisper, clutching my stomach in pain. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, and it was already four in the afternoon. She had insisted I finish all the chores before I could have anything to eat.
“Exactly. Now, repeat after me… 'I killed my mom before I came into this world, so I’m cursed,’” Emilia demanded.
I hesitated, not wanting to say it. As I looked up at her, she towered over me, a giant of a woman, nearly six feet tall, plump and imposing, ready to fight at a moment's notice. It was no wonder my father feared her. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but imagine what she would look like a werewolf.
"I-I killed my mom before coming into this world and that is why I'm alone,” Tears streamed down my cheeks like twin rivers. I wished I could disappear from the face of the earth. Every time I was scolded, Emilia and her children never failed to remind me that I had no mother.
My mom had died giving birth to me. According to the stories I’d heard, it was my fault. She wasn’t a werewolf, so she couldn’t heal from the excessive bleeding.
I remember her words vividly, even the ones she left unsaid, because I had to repeat them to myself every day and night.
“Good,” she said, her face softening just a little, though the deadly look remained. “Scrub the veranda and fill the water cans. I have little time left before the evening celebration. Your father wants you to be there, so hurry with your chores, or we’ll have no choice but to leave you behind.” Emilia turned to leave, but I couldn’t hold back any longer.
I wanted to ask why can’t your kids help with the chores? It would be faster and easier for both of us. I haven’t eaten, and I’m running on fumes here.
“Did you say something, you little rat?” she snapped, her frown deepening.
