Coreen’s cries grew louder as she buried herself in Beatrice’s embrace. “Granny is bad, Auntie! She hurt me! She’s evil!”
Beatrice stroked the child’s hair, shushing her gently, but her eyes sparkled with triumph as they flickered to me.
“You bitch,” Oliver snarled. “You have nothing good to give in this house. Now you hurt my granddaughter? That’s it. You’ll spend your time in the basement where you belong.”
“No—please.” My voice broke as panic surged. “Not the basement. It’s dark… I’m scared of the dark.”
But Oliver grabbed me by the arm, his grip like iron, dragging me across the hall despite my screams, my pleas, my sobs. He threw me into the cold, damp basement, slamming the door behind me.
The darkness swallowed me whole.
And for the first time in years, I realized… no one in that house ever truly loved me.
I fell asleep crying in the dark. The basement smelled of damp wood and dust, the kind of place where time didn’t exist, where I was nothing more than the shadow they wanted me to be.
When I woke up, someone was shaking me gently.
“Candice… sister, wake up.”
Beatrice.
Her face hovered above me, her voice dripping with false concern. “Are you okay? I’m sorry they put you here. I should have told them to let you out. But… why would you do that to Coreen? Now she hates you.”
I blinked at her, still disoriented, but the sharpness of her words cut through the fog. Coreen hates you.
Of course. This was Beatrice’s way—sweet on the outside, poison underneath.
I rolled my eyes, unable to stop myself. After all, hadn’t I known this game for years?
When my mother died, I was still young. Father remarried quickly, desperate for comfort, and with his new wife came Beatrice. At first, we were close. We shared toys, secrets, and laughter. I even believed she loved me like a real sister.
But then… things changed. Slowly, quietly, like a knife pressed against the skin without cutting. She began planting little seeds of doubt in Father’s mind, whispering lies, twisting truths. And little by little, he started turning his eyes away from me—toward her.
Beatrice was clever. Polished. Smarter, prettier, always better. While I swallowed my hurt, she shined. And when I married Oliver, I thought she was happy. Little did I know, she was stealing him from me. I was even happy because the two people I cared for were close.