The morning light fell across the house like a dull, indifferent blanket, casting long shadows across the barren living room. The house felt empty—desolate, in fact. It was the kind of silence that crushed the soul, not the peaceful kind, but the oppressive, suffocating type that seemed to drain the air from every corner. Primily’s small figure sat on the edge of the couch, her tiny hands clutching the edges of the birthday card she had made for her mother, the crayon drawings of hearts and flowers smudged with the tears she hadn’t been able to stop.
Today was supposed to be a celebration, her birthday—the one day when everything should have been about her. But it wasn’t.
Sophia Raymond, her stepmother, had been relentless, her cold presence swallowing every bit of light that might have
