Chapter 4

Hazel's POV

Those words hurt far more than the scalding water.

To the Vance family, my pain didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the puddle on their expensive floor.

Click.

The front door opened.

Ethan walked in, his school jacket slung carelessly over his shoulder. The moment he stepped inside, his eyes landed on me, standing in the middle of the room with a horribly blistered hand.

He froze.

Chloe immediately complained, "Ethan, you're just in time! Dad brought this charity case home, and when I tried to teach her some manners, she actually glared at me!"

Ethan didn't look at Chloe. His eyes were locked on my hand.

My skin was already turning purple, and blisters were rapidly forming.

I stared at him, a tiny, desperate plea in my eyes.

But Ethan just stood there. His throat bobbed, and his fists clenched in his pockets.

In the end, he said nothing. He averted his eyes, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked past me up the stairs.

His heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs sounded like a series of dull, final thuds.

Chloe sniffed, pointing at the floor. "What are you waiting for? Clean it!"

I lowered my eyes and slowly knelt down.

The rag was dirty and rough. The moment it touched my blistered skin, the pain was so intense I nearly blacked out.

I bit my lip until it bled, switched to my other hand, and wiped the tea from the floor, drop by drop.

That night, my room was pitch black, save for the weak glow of a small desk lamp.

I stood over the tiny sink, running cold water over my hand.

The icy water hit the raw blisters, making me break out in a cold sweat.

I turned the tap on full blast, hoping the sound of rushing water would drown out my quiet, pathetic sobs.

Suddenly, I heard a very soft rustling in the hallway.

The footsteps stopped right outside my door.

There was a tiny thump, like something soft hitting the floor.

I froze and quickly turned off the tap.

Outside, the footsteps quickly retreated, followed by the soft click of Ethan's door closing at the far end of the hall.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled my door open.

In the dim light of the hallway, a small tube of ointment lay on the floor.

It was a standard burn cream from the local pharmacy, still sealed in its plastic packaging.

I picked it up and instinctively looked down the hallway.

But Ethan's door was shut tight. No light escaped from underneath.

I went back inside, sat on the edge of my creaking cot, and carefully broke the seal.

The cream was cool and soothing. The moment I spread it over my raw skin, the agonizing burning began to fade.

In this cold, heartless house, everyone had laughed at me during the day. Even Ethan had chosen silence and cowardice.

But now, this tube of medicine was real.

I stared at the white cream on my red skin and slowly closed my hand around the tube.

The aluminum tube bent under my grip. For the first time, the smell of mold in my room was replaced by the faint, clean scent of eucalyptus.

Someone in this house saw my pain.

But he was too cowardly to show it. He only dared to help me under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, the burn healed, leaving a faint, jagged pink scar on my hand.

I learned to become a shadow in the Vance mansion.

I kept my head down, worked silently, and tried to exist like air.

I thought if I was quiet enough, I could survive here until I graduated high school.

But then, on a chilly afternoon in autumn, that illusion of peace was shattered.