Through broken walls

Chapter Five: Whispers in the Dark

The week stretched endlessly in Catherine’s house. For Amelia, each day was a blur of chores, hunger, and harsh words. Her tiny hands were raw from scrubbing floors, her back ached from hauling firewood, and her stomach growled from the scraps she was given.

Catherine seemed to watch her constantly, waiting for her to stumble. “Careful with that pot,” she snapped one morning as Amelia balanced a heavy basin of water. “If it slips, I’ll make you sleep outside tonight.”

Amelia’s knees wobbled, but she clenched her jaw and carried on, too afraid to speak.

Only Leo made the days bearable. He would sneak by when Catherine wasn’t looking, grinning as though the whole world was a game. Once, when Amelia was hanging laundry, he popped up from behind the sheets with a silly face that made her giggle despite herself.

“Shhh!” she hissed, glancing toward the house. “She’ll hear you.”

“I don’t care,” Leo whispered, handing her a small green apple he had stolen from his father’s orchard. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

Amelia’s heart warmed at his kindness. She took the apple, clutching it as though it were treasure. “Thank you, Leo.”

But joy never lasted long in Catherine’s house.

That evening, as Amelia set the table, Catherine’s sharp eyes narrowed on the apple core she had hidden under the firewood pile.

“Where did you get this?” Catherine’s voice cut through the silence like a whip.

Amelia froze, her heart thudding. “I…I found it,” she whispered.

“Liar.” Catherine seized her by the arm and dragged her across the room. “Do you think I don’t know? You’ve been sneaking food! Ungrateful child!”

She shoved Amelia to the ground, her voice rising. “Your mother was the same—always taking what wasn’t hers. And look where it got her.”

The words stung more than the slap that followed. Amelia’s cheek burned, but it was the mention of her mother that stayed with her long after Catherine stomped away.

That night, unable to sleep, Amelia crept from her mat and tiptoed down the creaky hallway. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—only that she needed answers.

The sitting room was dim, lit by the faint glow of the dying fire. On a small table lay a wooden box, half-open. Curiosity tugged at her, and she reached for it with trembling fingers. Inside were letters, yellowed with age.

She pulled one out, her eyes straining to make sense of the faded ink.

“‘She should never have married him… she doesn’t belong in this family… Catherine will make sure of it.’”

Before Amelia could read more, a floorboard groaned.

Her blood ran cold.

Catherine’s voice slithered through the darkness. “What are you doing, Amelia?”

Amelia dropped the letter, her hands trembling. She spun around to see her aunt standing in the doorway, her face half-hidden in shadow.

“I…I was just—”

Catherine crossed the room in two strides, snatching the letter and shoving it back into the box. She leaned close, her breath hot against Amelia’s ear.

“Listen to me, child. Whatever you think you saw, forget it. Curiosity killed your mother, and it will kill you too if you’re not careful.”

Amelia’s throat closed, fear flooding her veins. Catherine blew out the candle and dragged the box away, leaving Amelia in the suffocating dark.

As she crept back to her room, shaking, one thought burned in her mind: My mother’s death wasn’t what they told me. And the truth was being buried in whispers she was never meant to hear.