Chapter 2 Molly

"Molly!"

The shriek tore through the hallway like a thunderclap. Molly froze, her hands still damp from cleaning the mirror in Madam Theresa's bedroom.

"Where have you been, you idiot?" the voice continued, growing louder. "I've been screaming your name for hours!"

Molly stepped into the corridor, lowering her eyes just in time to see the elderly woman stomping toward her, arms folded like a judge ready to hand down a sentence.

"Ma'am, I... I was cleaning your room," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman's eyes narrowed into slits. Her lips curled into a cruel smile. "So that gives you the right to ignore me?" she snapped. "Ungrateful little thing. You're lucky to even be here. I should have fired you long ago!"

Molly said nothing. Not a word. Her silence wasn't weakness-it was survival.

This house had become a living nightmare. She wasn't just overworked; she was unsafe.

The man of the house-her employer's husband-had once tried to force himself on her. One evening when everyone was asleep, he cornered her in the laundry room. His breath had reeked of alcohol, and his touch had made her skin crawl. In pure panic, she'd swung her broom and caught him hard across the face. By some miracle, he'd sneezed uncontrollably from the dust and she'd managed to escape.

Even the couple's teenage son had made inappropriate advances. He once locked her inside the pantry, grinning as he leaned too close for comfort. She'd shoved past him and locked herself in her room until morning.

When she had mustered enough courage to tell Madam Theresa, her face had been met with not sympathy-but two harsh slaps.

"How dare you accuse my family of such disgusting lies?" the woman had screamed.

Since then, Molly had learned to keep quiet.

"I'm still talking to you!" Madam Theresa snapped again. "Where did your mind run off to, huh? Go in there and finish your chores, you lazy thing. I don't even know why I'm paying you. Good for nothing girl!"

Molly bowed slightly, turned, and walked away. Her ears burned from the insult, but her face remained expressionless. She had become an expert at hiding pain.

She completed all her chores that evening in silence, careful not to miss a single corner. Her back ached, her palms were dry and cracked, but she worked without complaint.

And when the sun dipped low and the sky dimmed into a dusky orange, she slipped out of that cursed house and headed home.

Home was a small, two-bedroom apartment tucked in a run-down part of town. The ceiling leaked whenever it rained, and the walls were thin enough to hear neighbors argue through them. But it was her sanctuary. A place where she could take off the mask and breathe-just a little.

"Molly, baby cakes!" her father called as she walked through the door.

He opened his arms wide, and she melted into his hug. No matter how tired she was, her father's embrace always gave her a strange sense of safety. To him, she was still his little girl, no matter how grown she looked.

"How was work today?" he asked, gently rubbing her back.

She hesitated. Her throat tightened. But then she forced a small smile and said, "It was fine."

A lie, of course. But a necessary one.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes, reading her like an open book. He didn't ask again. Maybe he already knew the truth and just couldn't bear to hear it out loud.

"I wish I could take the burden off your shoulders, sweetie," he said softly. "Your mom and I are really sorry."

"Don't be," Molly replied quickly, hugging him again. "I'm okay. We'll be okay."

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She had to be strong-for all of them.

If things had been different, she would've gone to college. She'd always been top of her class, hungry to learn, eager to make something of herself. But when the bills piled up and her parents couldn't find work, her dreams were the first to be sacrificed.

She had chosen to become a maid so her mother wouldn't have to. She couldn't stand the thought of her gentle, soft-spoken mother being yelled at or abused. So she took it all-every insult, every slap, every demeaning look-and buried it deep inside.

Her mother stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a worn apron.

"There's my baby," she said with a warm smile, walking over and joining the hug.

She gently stroked Molly's hair, her touch featherlight and full of love. "You're working too hard, darling."

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

"I have good news," her mother said, eyes lighting up.

Molly pulled back and looked at her, hopeful. Maybe, just maybe, they had won the lottery. Maybe someone had paid off their debt. Maybe they didn't have to struggle anymore.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I met a woman today at the market. We bumped into each other by accident, and we got to talking. She said her son needs a housemaid-someone full-time, to clean, cook, and take care of the house."

Molly's shoulders slumped slightly. Another maid job.

"She offered triple what Madam Theresa is paying," her mother added quickly. "And get this-she said you'll live in the house. A room of your own. Food, salary, everything."

Molly's eyes widened. "Triple?"

"Yes!" Her mother's smile widened as she held out an envelope. "She even gave this advance-said to give it to you. And here's the address. You start Monday."

Molly took the envelope with trembling fingers, slowly opening it to reveal a thick wad of cash. Her heart skipped a beat.

This was more than just money. This was hope.

She let out a sharp laugh, then covered her mouth, stunned. Then she screamed.

Not in fear, but in joy. She jumped into her mother's arms and then into her father's.

Finally, finally she was getting out of that hellhole. No more Madam Theresa. No more slaps. No more fear.

And maybe-just maybe-this new job would be the beginning of something better.

Something new.

Something that felt like freedom.