Bitter Welcome
1265 Words
I followed Uncle Hui up the grand staircase. Every step was a battle of will. I could feel August’s gaze on my back slicing through my dress.
He was waiting for the Old Master to look away so he could strike.
"Madam, Young Master, the room is ready," Uncle Hui said, bowing as we reached the East Side.
"You can move there now. I’ll have someone bring your things shortly."
"Thank you, Uncle Hui," I whispered, my voice sounding small in the vast hallway.
I turned to look at August, hoping for a sliver of direction, but he didn't even acknowledge I was standing there. He turned his back on me.
He stood by the railing, staring down into the foyer where Grandpa was still pacing, his cane hitting the floor with an angry thok-thok-thok.
"You’ve done enough for one day," August muttered, though it wasn't clear if he was talking to me or the walls.
I followed Uncle Hui to the doors of the Master Suite. Behind me, I could hear Grandpa’s voice rising again from downstairs, a muffled roar of disappointment.
He was scolding August again, throwing the word responsibility around like a weapon.
I flinched with every shout. In this house, Grandpa’s protection was a double-edged sword; the more he defended me, the more August would hate me for the leash around his neck.
"Madam, tonight you’ll be staying here," Uncle Hui said, opening the doors to a room.
"I’ll send someone to call you once lunch is served. Please, take some rest."
He left.
I looked at the gold clock on the mantel. It was only noon. Time had slowed to a crawl, stretching every second into a minute of agony.
My stomach growled. A reminder that I hadn't eaten since yesterday night.
The hunger was starting to make me dizzy, a lightheadedness that danced behind my eyes.
I sank onto the edge of the massive bed, careful not to wrinkle the dress, and before I knew it, the darkness of exhaustion pulled me into a shallow, dreamless nap.
Knock. Knock.
The sound was pulling me upward from the fog of sleep. I sat up too fast, a bolt of pain shooting from my hip down to my numb toes.
"Come in," I croaked, smoothing my hair.
A maid entered, carrying a garment bag.
"Madam, here is the dress the Old Master requested for lunch. Everyone is waiting in the dining hall."
"Thank you," I said, taking the bag.
Once she left, I unzipped it. It was a sleeveless, pale cream beautiful, expensive dress.
I looked at my reflection in the vanity mirror. If I put this on, the purple bruises on my shoulders and the yellowing marks on my forearms would be on full display for the entire Harrington lineage to see. Martha’s lessons were written in ink on my skin.
I couldn't change. I stayed in the purple gown, the high collar feeling like a noose, but a necessary one.
When I finally navigated the hallways to the dining hall, the scale of the room took my breath away. A long table stretched out, laden with silver and crystal.
There were more people now. August sat to the left of the head of the table, his face looked indifference.
Beside him sat two women I hadn't met yet, but whose eyes told me everything I needed to know.
"Ah! Here she is! My granddaughter has arrived!" Grandpa’s face lit up the moment he saw me. He gestured to the empty seat between him and August.
The rest of the table, however, looked as though they were attending a funeral. The silence was judgmental.
I walked to my seat and sat down. August didn't even shift his eyes toward me. He was cutting a piece of meat, ignoring my existence entirely.
"Let me introduce the newest member of our family," Grandpa announced, his voice booming with a pride. He pointed a trembling hand at me.
"August’s wife and my oldest Granddaughter-in-law, Spring."
I looked across the table. No one smiled. No one nodded.
"This is August’s mother, Tricey, and his sister, Shaila," Grandpa said, gesturing to the two women.
I forced a small and gave a slight wave. "It’s an honor to meet you," I whispered.
They didn't wave back. Shaila, let out a sharp, mocking tch. She leaned back in her chair, her eyes raking over me with a disgust so visible it felt like a slap.
"Oh," Shaila said. "She looks... average. I thought, after all the fuss, she’d at least be a real beauty. You know, like Winter was."
August’s knife scraped harshly against his plate, the only sign that he had heard her.
"Shaila, mind your tongue," Grandpa warned, his eyes narrowing.
But Tricey, August’s mother, didn't back down. She placed her napkin on the table. She didn't look at me; she looked straight at the Old Master.
"Father, I can never accept her as a Harrington daughter-in-law," she said, her voice hard and determined.
"Marrying the woman who caused the accident that took the life of the girl we actually loved? It’s an insult in our name. It’s an insult to August."
"She is his wife by law and by my word!" Grandpa slammed his hand on the table.
"You will treat her with respect in this house, Tricey or you can find somewhere else to eat."
Tricey's eyes finally flicked to me. They were the same shape as August’s.
I felt the emotional whirlpool beginning to spin. I looked at August, he picked up his wine glass, swirled the red liquid, and took a slow sip. He was letting them tear me apart. He was enjoying it.
"Look at her," Shaila laughed, pointing a finger at my high collar.
"She’s so ashamed she can't even wear the dress Grandpa picked out. Why are you all covered up, Spring? Afraid we’ll see that you don't fit in? Or are you just hiding the fact that you have nothing to show?"
The humiliation was pressing the air out of my lungs. I wanted to tell them that I was covered up because their son’s house was a torture chamber.
I wanted to scream that I was only here because I had no choice.
But my stomach growled again, a loud, betraying sound in the sudden silence of the room.
Shaila giggled. "Goodness, is she starving too? Did the Willow run out of food along with her dignity?"
"That's enough!" Grandpa roared, standing up.
"Spring, child, ignore them. Eat. You are a Harrington now."
I picked up my fork, but my hand was shaking so badly. I looked at the food. I was trapped between a grandfather who loved a version of me that didn't exist, and a family that hated the version of me they had created.
I was the scapegoat for a tragedy I didn't cause, trapped in a family that used me as a punching bag, while the man who held the contract to my life sat beside me, watching me drown in a room full of people.
"I... I’m not very hungry," I whispered, dropping the fork.
August finally spoke, his voice low and smooth as silk, yet twice as cold.
"Eat, Spring. Don't make a scene. You’ve already done enough to get Grandpa on your side today. Don't push your luck."
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- Writer
