MY FATE IS IN MY HANDS

PHOEBE I woke up before the alarm rang. My eyes opened in the darkness, my body already tense, already prepared for the day. The small phone beside my pillow buzzed softly at five o’clock, but I silenced it immediately. I lay still for a moment, listening to the house, everything was quiet. That was the only time it ever was. I sat up and swung my legs off the thin mattress. The cold floor met my bare feet, sending a chill up my spine. The room I slept in was narrow and windowless, with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It used to be a*****e for unused items. Now it was mine. Or rather, it was where I was allowed to sleep. I washed my face quickly, tied my hair back, and stepped into the kitchen. Cooking came first. It always did. I boiled water and stirred the pap until it was smooth. I fried the eggs carefully and toasted the bread, working in silence. I measured everything with my eyes. Josh hated watery pap, and Patricia hated burnt eggs. I knew these things the way one knows danger instinctively, without needing to be told twice. When the food was ready, I wiped the counter clean and picked up the broom. I swept the sitting room slowly, making sure not to miss any corner. Dust gathered at the edges no matter how many times I cleaned. After sweeping, I fetched water and mopped the floor, moving the chairs aside and scrubbing beneath them. My arms were already aching, but I didn’t stop as stopping was not an option. Next came the dishes from the night before. I stood at the sink, washing plates and cups in cold water. My fingers stiffened from the chill, but I scrubbed until every plate shone. When I finished, I arranged them neatly on the rack. Only then did I allow myself to breathe out. The sky outside had begun to lighten. I set the table carefully plates placed evenly, cups lined up straight. I adjusted the chairs and then stood beside the table, waiting. Josh came out of the bedroom first. He sat down without a word and began to eat. Patricia followed soon after, adjusting her dress, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for something I had done wrong. Neither of them greeted me. Neither of them thanked me. They ate in silence. I remained standing, my eyes lowered. I knew better than to sit. I waited for Irish. When Irish stepped out of her room, dressed in her usual pink gown, the atmosphere shifted immediately. Patricia’s face softened into a smile. “Come and eat, Irish,” she said gently. Josh looked up and nodded at her. Irish sat down and began to eat. They asked her about school, about her classes and teachers. They laughed at something she said, their voices warm in a way I had never heard directed at me. I listened without lifting my head. When she finished eating, she picked up her school bag and walked out of the house. She didn’t spare me a glance. After breakfast, I cleared the table. I washed the plates again, wiped the table, and cleaned the kitchen until everything was spotless. Only when I was sure there was nothing left to correct did I return to my room. I changed into my selling clothes that was faded and thin from too many washes. I wrapped a scarf around my head and picked up the empty tray from the corner. Josh was already seated outside when I stepped out. “Go,” he said, without even looking at me. I lifted the tray, balanced it carefully on my head, and walked out of the house. The morning air was cool, but the road ahead of me was long.