chapter 4

The first day after Lena’s betrayal, Ariana’s mornings became a ritual of dread. Her mother refused to give her more than a dry piece of toast and a cup of weak tea while her sister and brother were eating bacon and pancakes. The hunger gnawed at her stomach, twisting it into knots and the pain was unbearable reminding her the consequences of speaking out.

“Eat faster,” her mother snapped, glaring as Ariana nibbled. “Do you think food grows on trees?”

Ariana swallowed quickly, not wanting to provoke further anger. Her father stumbled into the kitchen later, reeking of whiskey, his breath sharp and heavy.

“You’re too slow, girl,” he barked, shoving a chair against the table. “If you can’t keep up, maybe you don’t deserve to eat at all.”

The next few days were a blur of fear, hunger, and bruises. Every misstep, every small mistake became a reason for punishment. Ariana’s arms, her legs, and even her back began to show faint marks—evidence of her family’s relentless control and abuse.

At school, she tried to hide her injuries with long sleeves and careful posture, but the weight of constant fear made her fatigue visible. She felt exhausted, hollow, and painfully alone.

By the end of the week, her father’s threats escalated. One evening, he dragged her into his study, his face flushed with alcohol.

“You need to learn your place,” he growled. “We’re struggling to survive, and yet here you are… weak, useless, and complaining.”

Ariana trembled, fear rising like a tide in her chest. He forced her to stay up late cleaning and organizing things around the house, her body aching and her mind racing.

“Maybe if you do as I say… if you obey, you’ll finally be useful,” he slurred.

The next day, he took her to a gathering of people he claimed could “help the family financially.” Ariana didn’t understand at first. The room smelled of alcohol and cigars, filled with men she had never met. Fear gripped her tightly. She realized he meant to use her presence to earn money—treating her like a commodity rather than a daughter. And when she resisted he told her to be of use for once

Her stomach churned. Her body screamed in protest. But she learned quickly that resistance only invited more punishment.

Late that night, in the darkness of her small bedroom, Ariana curled up on her bed, trying to block out the day’s horrors, the unwanted touches, the disgusting faces of men older than her father and the forced proximity. She pressed her notebook to her chest, scribbling quickly:

“I won’t let this break me. I have to survive. I will find a way out.”

Even in the face of abuse, even when hunger and exhaustion threatened to crush her, Ariana found small but meaningful ways to hold on. The words in her notebook were her shield and companion, the only place where she could still be herself, without fear .

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