The kitchen finally went silent. After hours of chopping, scrubbing, and running back and forth, the rattling of plates and the sharp voices of the older women faded behind me as I climbed the narrow stairs. My legs felt like stones. My palms still stung from scalding water, and sweat clung to my skin like a second layer of dirt.
When I reached my room, I shut the door quickly and pressed my back against it, breathing in relief. My room was small, barely large enough for a bed and a wooden chest, but it was mine. My little cage. I hated it, but at the same time, it was the only place where I could pretend to be safe. Here, no one looked at me with disgust. Here, no one shouted at me to move faster.
I dragged my shirt over my head and threw it into the basket, wrinkling my nose. The smell
