Chapter 3 Mother of Shadows

The first time Eliana saw her mother after all those years, it was through a frosted window of a sprawling mansion far from the crumbling streets she knew. The house stood like a fortress of wealth and secrets, its marble pillars gleaming under the afternoon sun. The gardens were manicured with precision, the kind she had only seen in storybooks or through the cracked TV screen in Mr. Benson's living room.

Mr. Benson drove quietly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "You have to be strong," he told Eliana, who sat gripping her coat like a shield. "Your mother might not be the woman you remember."

Eliana swallowed hard, heart pounding like a trapped bird. She had spent nights dreaming of this moment-imagining reunions filled with hugs, apologies, explanations. But the truth, she feared, would be far different.

The front door swung open before they could knock. A woman dressed in a crisp maid uniform stands poised as she opens the door, her attire is traditional, with a black dress, white apron, and a matching cap neatly placed on her head. A hint of professionalism is evident in her demeanor as she greets the guests with a polite smile.

She steps aside to allow the guest to enter, her movements are efficient and precise. She leads the way, walking with a quiet confidence, her heels clicking softly on the floor. Her eyes are cast downward slightly, maintaining a respectful distance while still ensuring she can guide the guest effectively.

Upon reaching the designated room, she gestures gracefully, inviting the guest to enter while she leaves. A tall woman in a white tailored dress is seated, her dark hair pulled into a flawless bun. Her eyes, sharp and cold, flicked over Eliana with thinly veiled disdain.

"Mirabel," Mr. Benson said, his voice steady but carrying a weight of accusation.

Eliana's mother's lips curled into a practiced smile. "Mr. Benson. What a surprise." Her gaze shifted to Eliana, lingering just a moment too long. "And who is this child?"

Eliana's breath caught. She took a tentative step forward. "Mother, it's me-Eliana."

Mirabel's smile tightened, her eyes narrowing. "You're not my daughter," she said flatly.

The words hit Eliana like a slap.

Mr. Benson looks at Mirabel, "How can you say that about your own daughter."

Mirabel, looks sternly at him "And how does that affect me".

Mr. Benson places his hands on Eliana's shoulder as though trying to give her comfort "Look, if I had an option I wouldn't bring her here but her fathers died last week and there is nowhere for her to turn to-she's your responsibility now"

Mirabel looks coldly at the girl as she stands "If she's to stay her then she must work, I have no room for a deadbeat"

Inside the mansion, the walls were adorned with priceless paintings and gleaming chandeliers, but the air felt cold and oppressive. Mirabel's voice was clipped and distant as she gave instructions to a housekeeper, before finally conceding to let Eliana stay-but only as a "house help."

"Not a guest," Mirabel emphasized sharply. "A servant."

Eliana's shoulders sagged, but Mr. Benson squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, your father will watch after you from heaven."

The days that followed were a nightmare woven from shadows.

Vanessa and Liam, Mirabel's eldest children, seemed to sense Eliana's vulnerability and preyed on it mercilessly. Vanessa would shove her into corners, sneering, "You're nothing but a stain here. Remember your place."

Liam, with his cruel laughter and sharp tongue, took every chance to humiliate her in front of the other servants.

Eliana kept silent, biting back tears, swallowing the bitterness. But each insult, each shove, was a blow that threatened to break her.

Yet amidst the darkness, a small light flickered.

Amira, the youngest Kingston child, was different. Quiet and observant, with eyes full of kindness and curiosity. One afternoon, Eliana found her in the sprawling garden, sketching flowers in a notebook.

Amira looked up and smiled softly. "You're not like them," she said.

Eliana blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You're eyes, they look so innocent. You don't act like the others either"

Eliana let out a small laugh "If you say so"

Amira takes hold of her hands and puts a flower in it "I really like you Eliana, just as I love this flower"

The words, simple yet profound, stirred something deep inside Eliana-a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this world of cold glances and whispered cruelty.

One evening, after a particularly harsh day of chores and sneers, Eliana sat alone by the kitchen hearth, the firelight dancing across her tear-streaked face.

Mirabel's footsteps approached, sharp and commanding. "You're expected to be invisible and not utter a word about me to anyone, do you understand?" she said coldly. "Do your work, don't ask questions."

Eliana's fists clenched at her sides. "Why did you leave me?" she whispered, voice cracking. "Why did you disappear?"

Mirabel's eyes darkened. "Some things are better left forgotten." She turns and leaves.

The words sliced through Eliana's heart.

That night, in the cramped servant's quarters, Eliana pressed her face into the pillow, swallowing her sobs. Her mother was a stranger-a queen of shadows who ruled over a cold kingdom that refused to see her as anything but a secret to hide.

But Eliana vowed silently: one day, she would step out of those shadows and into the light. One day, she would claim a place not as a servant, but as a queen in her own right.