chapter 1

Chapter One: The Silent Girl

The sun had not yet risen when Ana’s eyes opened. The faint orange glow of dawn slipped through the cracked window of her small room, landing softly on her pale face. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of footsteps echoing down the marble hall. The mansion was awake — and that meant her day had begun.

Ana was only eight, but her mornings started before anyone else’s. She climbed quietly out of bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold marble floor. Her long black hair fell like silk down her back, and when she pushed it away from her face, the mole above her upper lip and her hazel-green eyes caught the first light of day. She was beautiful — too beautiful, her stepmother would say, with a sneer that could cut deeper than a knife.

“ANA!” A sharp voice sliced through the air. It was Mrs. Kim, her stepmother, calling from the kitchen downstairs. “Are you still asleep? Come down this instant!”

Ana’s heart skipped. She grabbed her worn shawl, tied it around her small shoulders, and ran down the stairs as quickly as her little legs could take her.

“I-I’m here, Stepmother,” she said, her voice trembling as she entered the kitchen.

Mrs. Kim stood beside the grand counter, dressed in an expensive robe, her hair perfectly curled. Beside her sat Mr. Kim, Ana’s father — a wealthy businessman who rarely spoke to her unless it was to scold.

“You call this clean?” Mrs. Kim snapped, pointing at a teacup on the table. “There’s a spot on it! Are you trying to embarrass us when guests come?”

“I’m sorry, Stepmother,” Ana whispered, bowing her head.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t clean cups,” Mrs. Kim hissed. “Do it again — and polish the floors while you’re at it. We have visitors tonight.”

Her father barely looked up from his newspaper. “Make sure everything is perfect,” he muttered. “I don’t want another complaint.”

Ana nodded. “Yes, Father.”

She turned away, blinking fast so they wouldn’t see her tears. As she picked up the cup, she noticed a small figure standing by the door — her half-sister Saba, just nine years old, peeking quietly inside.

When their eyes met, Saba smiled faintly. “Don’t cry, Ana,” she whispered when Mrs. Kim wasn’t looking. “I’ll help you.”

Ana’s lips curved into a weak smile. “You’ll get in trouble,” she murmured.

“I don’t care,” Saba said bravely, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t have to do everything.”

Mrs. Kim noticed and clapped her hands sharply. “Saba! Go to your room. You have piano lessons in ten minutes — and I don’t want you mixing with her before guests arrive.”

Saba’s little face fell. “But Mother—”

“No buts. Go!”

The girl hesitated, then whispered as she passed Ana, “I’ll sneak some breakfast for you later.”

Ana nodded. “Thank you.”

---

The hours passed slowly. Ana scrubbed the marble floors until her knees ached. She washed dishes, dusted furniture, and ironed her stepmother’s dresses. She worked so quietly that even the house seemed to forget she existed.

By afternoon, her hands were raw and red, but she didn’t complain. Complaining only led to worse things.

From the living room came laughter — Mrs. Kim’s friends had arrived early. They were talking about their trips to the United States, where Mrs. Kim’s sister lived.

“Oh, we’re planning to send Saba there next year,” Mrs. Kim said proudly. “For school. The best education, of course — not like what some people deserve.” Her cold eyes flicked toward the kitchen, where Ana stood wiping the counters.

Ana froze. Her heart ached. America. The word sounded like a dream — far away, bright, and full of freedom. She wondered if she would ever see such a place, or if she’d always be trapped here, inside walls that hated her.

---

That night, after the guests had gone and the house was quiet, Saba crept into Ana’s room. She carried a small plate of food — bread, fruit, and a bit of milk.

“I saved it for you,” she whispered, handing it over.

Ana’s eyes widened. “Saba… you’ll get in trouble.”

“It’s okay,” Saba said with a smile. “You need to eat.”

They sat together on Ana’s small bed, whispering softly under the flickering light of a candle.

“Do you ever think about Mom?” Ana asked quietly.

Saba nodded. “All the time. I don’t remember her much… but I know she loved you.”

Ana looked down. “Father says she died because of me.”

“That’s not true,” Saba said fiercely. “It was an accident. Don’t listen to him.”

Ana didn’t answer. She just stared out the window, at the faint silver moon hanging in the sky.

“I wish we could go somewhere far away,” she murmured. “Somewhere people don’t yell at us.”

“Like America?” Saba asked, her voice full of wonder.

Ana smiled sadly. “Yes. Like America.”

Saba squeezed her hand. “One day, Ana. I promise. We’ll go. Just you and me.”

---

The candle flickered lower. The house was silent except for the soft wind outside.

And for the first time that day, Ana let herself dream — of freedom, of a world beyond the mansion, and of a future where her hazel-green eyes would finally see the sunrise without fear.

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