I still remember those first days. I was timid, afraid to speak, afraid to meet anyone's eyes, always shrinking into corners. It was Ramona who sought me out, took my hand, and grinned at me: "Marina, this is your home now. I'm your little sister. Anyone gives you trouble, I'll make them pay!" And it was Julian who brought me treats every day, sat with me while I did homework, patted my head and said gently, "Don't be afraid, child. Grandpa's here."
Only Max hated me from the start. He called me "charity case" in front of everyone, threw my belongings out of the house, tormented me at every turn, insisted I didn't belong. But Julian always scolded him sharply, and Ramona always defended me. Eventually, Max learned to keep his cruelty quieter—though his contempt never faded.
All these years, Julian and Ramona treated me as true family, as one of their own. They gave me warmth, gave me something to hold onto, showed me what home could feel like. So seven years ago, when Julian suggested I marry Max, I agreed.
I told myself it didn't matter that Max didn't love me. It didn't matter that there was no romance between us. If I was good to him, kept the house running smoothly, gave him children—surely, someday, he would see my devotion. Surely he would soften, even just a little.
I told myself that even without love, even with a life that was merely ordinary, as long as I had my two precious daughters, as long as I could watch them grow—my life would have meaning. It wouldn't have been lived in vain.
I poured everything into my children, into this home. Max was rarely there. His heart belonged to Gretchen. I swallowed it. I accepted it.
But never—never—did I imagine that all my patience, all my hoping, would lead to this.
My two baby girls. The treasures I'd cradled in my palms for five years. Their own father signed them away to hell, where they were tortured to death.
And him? He was posting on social media, celebrating his precious Gretchen's pregnancy with his child.
Now I had nothing. No family. No children. No love. No home.
Only endless pain. Bottomless despair. And hatred carved into my bones.
I don't know how long I cried. My voice went hoarse, then silent. The tears dried up, leaving only the raw burn behind my eyes.