chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Promise of Tomorrow

Two years had passed.

Ana was ten now — taller, quieter, her beauty more striking than ever. Her hazel-green eyes had lost the sparkle of childhood, replaced by something calm and distant, as if she had learned to hide her dreams deep inside.

The mansion hadn’t changed. It was still full of polished marble, chandeliers, and cold voices that echoed off the walls. But Ana had changed. Though she still rose before dawn to work, she had found small corners of peace — especially in the library.

There, surrounded by books that smelled of dust and ink, Ana discovered a new world. She read everything she could find — stories, poems, languages. She taught herself English fluently and had even begun learning French. The words became her escape, her secret window to a world she had never seen.

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That morning, as she dusted the shelves in the library, she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Ana!”

She turned. Saba stood at the door, a suitcase beside her. She was twelve now, with soft brown eyes that shimmered with both excitement and guilt.

“You’re leaving today?” Ana asked quietly.

Saba nodded, biting her lip. “Yes. My flight’s tonight. Mother says I’ll study in the U.S. — in a boarding school. Maybe for a long time.”

Ana’s hand froze on the book she was holding. “A long time…” she repeated softly. “Will you come back?”

“Of course I will.” Saba stepped closer and held her sister’s hand. “And when I do, I’ll take you with me. I promise.”

Ana looked down. “They won’t let me go anywhere.”

“They can’t stop me once I’m older,” Saba said fiercely. “You’ll see, Ana. One day, I’ll find a way to bring you with me. You don’t belong here.”

Ana gave a small, sad smile. “Maybe it’s my place.”

“Don’t say that,” Saba whispered. “You deserve the whole world.”

At that moment, Mrs. Kim’s sharp voice echoed from the hall.

“Saba! Hurry up — your things need to be packed. And Ana, stop wasting time! The floor in the main hall isn’t clean.”

Ana quickly pulled her hand away. “Go,” she whispered. “She’ll be angry.”

Saba hesitated, then hugged her tightly. “I’ll write to you. Every week.”

Ana wanted to believe her, but she had learned not to trust promises in this house. Still, she nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”

---

That night, the mansion was full of noise — servants moving luggage, Mrs. Kim giving orders, her father talking on the phone about business. Ana stood by the window of her small room, watching the black car pull away through the iron gates.

Inside it, Saba waved from the window, her face half-hidden by tears.

Ana lifted her hand slowly and waved back — until the car disappeared into the dark road beyond the gate.

Then silence.

Only the sound of the baby crying in the next room broke the stillness.

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Ana hurried to the nursery. Inside, her little brother Adam, now two years old, was crying in his crib. His big dark eyes were red, his tiny fists clenched.

“Hush, Adam,” Ana whispered, lifting him gently into her arms. “Don’t cry, I’m here.”

She rocked him slowly, humming the lullaby her mother used to sing — the one she barely remembered. Adam’s cries softened, and soon he was asleep, his small head resting against her shoulder.

She looked down at him and sighed. “You’re lucky,” she murmured. “You don’t understand yet. You don’t see what they do.”

From behind her came a cold voice.

“Talking to yourself again, Ana?”

She turned. Mrs. Kim stood at the door, arms crossed, a glass of wine in hand. “Don’t fill his head with your nonsense,” she said sharply. “When he grows up, he’ll be nothing like you.”

Ana lowered her eyes. “Yes, Stepmother.”

“And stop spending so much time in the library,” Mrs. Kim continued. “You think reading those English and French books will make you special? You’re nothing but a maid in this house.”

Ana stayed quiet, holding Adam protectively.

Mrs. Kim sneered. “Clean up and make dinner. Your father will be home soon.”

When she was gone, Ana looked out the window again. The moon was high, the same moon Saba must be seeing far away in America.

She whispered softly, “Un jour… je serai libre.”

(One day… I will be free.)

Then she smiled faintly at Adam. “We’ll both be free. I promise.”

---

Weeks turned into months.

No letters came from Saba. Mrs. Kim said she was “too busy studying.” But sometimes, late at night, Ana would sneak into the library and find herself staring at the globe — her small fingers tracing the ocean that separated her from her sister.

Her world was small, but her mind had grown vast. She had read about stars, countries, languages, and love — all the things she had never seen but knew by heart.

And though her stepmother tried to crush her spirit, she could not destroy Ana’s mind.

Because every night, when the mansion slept, Ana dreamed — of freedom, of kindness, of the day someone would finally open the gates.

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