Three Years Later…
*Maddy*
The floorboards have never been cleaner, and my hands have never been more raw. Soapy water soaks through my leggings as I kneel, wringing out my sponge in a bucket of water. The chalet needs work, at least my stepmother says so every chance she gets. The cracks in the ancient plaster and the stone chimneys blackened with soot were once clean and whole, and the chalet itself used to be regal and housed her family back when they had wealth and standing.
Now, it’s a testament to her less-than-ideal situation.
A situation, she says, is only exasperated by my being in the picture.
I’m another mouth to feed. Another body to clothe.
But I don’t eat anything but scraps left over from the main table and my clothes are nothing but tarnished rags after years and
