Falling for her oppressor

chapter 1

I could hear the giggling from Nelly’s room, again. She was probably on the phone with another guy, pretending to care, just to see what she could get from him. I could never understand how she had the energy to juggle so many at once. Meanwhile, I had a pile of dishes waiting for me in the kitchen and a floor that needed scrubbing before Aunt Lorna got home.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, glancing at the clock. Another hour before she returned—just enough time to finish everything and avoid one of her lectures about how "lucky" I was to live under her roof. She never mentioned the fact that I had no choice. After my parents died, Uncle James took me in, but he was barely around. He left me with Aunt Lorna, who treated me more like a maid than family.

Nelly’s laughter cut through the house, sharp and carefree, a reminder of everything I wasn’t. I grabbed the rag and knelt down to start on the kitchen floor, the cool tiles pressing against my knees.

"You still haven’t finished?" Nelly appeared in the doorway, her hair perfectly styled and her face glowing with makeup. She leaned against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone.

"Almost," I muttered, not looking up.

She sighed dramatically. "You’re so slow, Kyra. If you worked harder, maybe you wouldn’t be stuck here forever." She smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Anyway, I’m going out. Tell Mom I won’t be back for dinner."

I nodded silently, watching her leave without a care in the world, while I kept scrubbing. I wondered how someone could be so oblivious to the world around them. Nelly had no idea what it meant to work, to sacrifice, to survive. But I did. And maybe that was my problem—I knew too much.

I was wiping down the kitchen counters when I heard Nelly’s bedroom door creak open. The sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoed through the hallway before she appeared in the doorway, dressed in something that screamed attention. A tight, red dress clung to her body, showing off every curve, with a neckline that dipped low enough to make anyone blush. Her long blonde hair cascaded down her back in perfect waves, and her lips were painted a deep shade of crimson, matching her dress.

She strutted into the kitchen like she owned the place, her eyes briefly flicking over me, but I knew she wasn’t really seeing me. I was just part of the background—like the furniture.

"Where are you off to now?" Aunt Lorna’s voice carried down the hall as she followed Nelly into the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. The expression on her face was stern, but I knew better. Nelly could do no wrong in her eyes. Aunt Lorna had that kind of selective anger—reserved for me, mostly.

Nelly rolled her eyes, grabbing her purse off the table. "I’m meeting up with Sarah and some friends. We’re just going out for drinks, nothing major."

Aunt Lorna's eyes scanned her daughter’s outfit, the frown still lingering on her face, but I could already tell she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. I had seen this routine so many times before. It was like watching a play where I already knew every line, every move. Nelly would do what she wanted, and Aunt Lorna would pretend to scold her for appearances.

"Well, don’t stay out too late," Aunt Lorna muttered, her voice softening. She stepped forward, smoothing a wrinkle on Nelly’s dress with a tender hand, as though she were touching something fragile and precious.

Nelly flashed a quick smile, glancing at her reflection in the kitchen window as if to make sure her makeup was still flawless. "I won’t, Mom. You worry too much," she said, with a playful tilt of her head.

"Just be careful, okay?" Aunt Lorna added, her voice practically dripping with concern now. "You know how men can be."

"Yes, yes, I know," Nelly replied, her voice breezy as she slung her purse over her shoulder. She turned toward the door, but not before casting a sideways glance at me, still scrubbing the counter.

"Oh, and Kyra," Nelly’s voice was suddenly sharp as she narrowed her eyes at me, her lips curving into a mocking smile. "Stop daydreaming and get back to work. This place isn’t going to clean itself, you know."

I blinked, my hands momentarily pausing mid-scrub. I hadn’t even realized I’d stopped moving. My mind had drifted for a second—just one second—but that was enough for Nelly to pounce on it.

Aunt Lorna’s gaze followed her daughter’s, landing on me. Her expression darkened, and the coldness I was used to seeing in her eyes returned instantly. "She’s right, Kyra. You’re always so slow with the chores. Do I have to remind you again how much we’ve done for you by letting you stay here?"

Her words were laced with the usual venom, the same speech she’d given me a hundred times. It always felt like a slap, even though I knew it was coming.

I lowered my gaze to the counter, focusing on the soapy water, my heart sinking deeper into my chest. "No, Aunt Lorna," I mumbled, "I’ll finish soon."

"Good," she said with a huff. "There’s still the laundry to do, and I want the floors mopped before I go to bed tonight. And don’t forget to iron Nelly’s dress for tomorrow. She has an event, and I don’t want to hear that it’s wrinkled."

"Yes, Aunt Lorna," I replied, biting back the rising frustration. I could feel Nelly’s smug gaze on me, knowing she had won once again. It was always like this—her, flaunting her freedom, while I was buried beneath the weight of every responsibility in the house.

Nelly gave one last flick of her hair and turned toward the door. "See you later, Mom!" she chirped, waving her hand behind her as she disappeared into the night, her heels clacking on the driveway.

Aunt Lorna sighed softly, shaking her head with a small smile. "She’s just so full of life," she murmured to herself, almost fondly, as if Nelly were some kind of rare gem.

Then her eyes snapped back to me, and the warmth vanished. "Get back to work, Kyra. I don’t want to have to tell you again."

I nodded quickly, returning to my scrubbing, the familiar ache in my hands creeping back in. The door clicked shut behind Aunt Lorna as she left the room, and I was alone again, with nothing but the sound of my rag swiping across the counter.

By the time I finished scrubbing the kitchen floor, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, casting a soft orange glow through the windows. My knees ached from kneeling for so long, but I still had dinner to make, laundry to fold, and the ironing Aunt Lorna insisted on. She always had something more for me to do, no matter how hard I worked.

I moved mechanically, my mind elsewhere as I chopped vegetables, stirred the pot on the stove, and set the table. It wasn’t that I didn’t know what I was doing—after all, I’d been doing it for years—but sometimes, when the house got too quiet, I let myself imagine a different life. A life where I wasn’t stuck here, in this suffocating routine, with no end in sight.

As I finished preparing the food, I heard the telltale click of Aunt Lorna’s heels approaching the kitchen. She entered, her eyes sweeping over the spotless room as if searching for something to criticize. She was dressed up now, too—a tight black dress, heels that matched, and her hair carefully styled. Her face was painted with just enough makeup to make her look younger, and I knew exactly why.

I didn’t ask where she was going. I didn’t have to. I already knew.

"You’re done?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she approached the stove, her gaze landing on the simmering pot of stew.

"Yes, Aunt Lorna," I replied, stepping aside to let her inspect my work.

She lifted the lid and inhaled the scent of dinner, nodding slightly before letting the lid fall back into place. "Not bad," she said with a hint of approval. It was the closest thing to a compliment I ever got from her.

"Now, listen," she continued, turning her gaze to me with that cold look that always made me feel small. "I’m going out tonight. I won’t be back until late, so make sure you lock up after I leave. Keep an eye on the house, and don’t forget to turn off the lights when you’re done in here."

"Of course," I mumbled. It was the same routine every time. Aunt Lorna had been going out more and more lately, always coming back late at night, pretending she had been at some event with her friends. But I wasn’t stupid. I knew what she was really doing, who she was really meeting.

She had a man, some rich guy she met months ago, who was paying for her nights out, buying her things that Uncle James couldn’t. I’d overheard her phone calls late at night, her voice soft and flirty in a way she never spoke to anyone else, especially me.

Uncle James was working abroad, breaking his back to send money home for his family. I could almost hear his cheerful voice whenever he called, talking about how much he missed us and how he couldn’t wait to come home. Aunt Lorna always played along, acting like she was some devoted wife waiting for his return, but I knew the truth. She was only interested in the money.

"Kyra!" Aunt Lorna snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Stop daydreaming and pay attention."

"Sorry," I muttered quickly, bowing my head.

She huffed in annoyance, heading toward the door. As she passed the hallway mirror, she paused to adjust her hair, smoothing it down as if making sure she looked perfect before stepping out into the world.

"Remember," she said without looking back at me, "make sure everything’s clean before you go to bed. And don’t forget Nelly’s dress for tomorrow." She glanced at me in the reflection of the mirror. "I expect you to manage without any issues."

"Yes, Aunt Lorna."

She didn’t bother saying goodbye as she slipped out of the door, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen. I listened to the sound of her heels clicking down the driveway, then the slam of the car door as she drove off. I didn’t know how long she’d be gone, but it would be long enough. She always came back smelling of perfume and money, her eyes bright with excitement in a way they never were when Uncle James called.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the door, wondering how everything in my life had become like this. A silent house, filled with empty promises and lies. Aunt Lorna played her role well—devoted wife, loving mother—but it was all a facade. The real Aunt Lorna was selfish, using people for what they could give her, just like Nelly.

With a sigh, I turned back to the stove and finished serving dinner, even though I knew no one else would be around to eat it. Aunt Lorna would be out, and Nelly probably wouldn’t come home until the early hours, if at all. It would just be me, sitting alone in the kitchen, staring at the meal I had cooked for them but never shared in.

I moved quietly, cleaning up after myself, folding the laundry, and ironing Nelly’s dress. My hands worked faster than my mind, which was already wandering to places far from here, far from this empty house. But no matter how much I daydreamed about escaping, the reality was always the same.

I was stuck here.