The clothes were finally put away, neatly folded and stacked in the drawers, as if organizing my life would somehow give me control over something—anything. I stared at the closet for a moment, letting the silence of the room fill me. The top floor of the house was as sterile as it was luxurious, the second living room with its plush couches and elegant decor mocking me with its perfection. It felt cold, impersonal, like every inch of this place had been designed to suffocate any sense of rebellion I had left.
I wandered into the small kitchenette, my stomach growling loudly, reminding me of how long it had been since I’d eaten something substantial. I opened every cupboard, hoping, praying to find a scrap of food, but each one was empty, save for a few utensils and glasses. My fingers br
