Chapter 3 Stolen Hope

The morning had been relentless, as always. Aria moved through the café with precise motions, a ghost among the bustle of early customers, her body aching and her stomach gnawing at her for food she had skipped again. She had learned long ago that there was no time for eating. Her life was measured in minutes spent working, earning, hiding, and surviving.

By mid-morning, her hands were sore from carrying trays, washing cups, and cleaning tables that never seemed to stay clean long enough. Monica's sharp eyes were everywhere, watching her, critiquing every movement, reminding her she was nothing without her labor.

"Move faster, Aria! Do you think these customers will wait all day for your clumsy hands?"

Monica snapped, her voice sharp as broken glass. Aria forced a smile, nodded, and continued her work without pause, knowing better than to complain.

Every time she thought about grabbing a bite to eat, she reminded herself: food could wait. Money mattered more. Every cent she earned was stolen by her father anyway, but she saved what she could secretly, tucking coins and small bills into folds in her apron, under layers of cloth no one else noticed.

By noon, her uniform was smeared with coffee and crumbs, and her legs ached with exhaustion. She paused briefly, reaching for a water bottle hidden under the counter, her hands trembling as she took a quick sip. She had no time for more than that, no time for herself in a world that demanded all of her energy and attention.

When the afternoon rush ended, she hurried to Margaret Lee's small family-run restaurant, her second job of the day. Margaret, a kind woman in her sixties with soft eyes and a warm smile, always offered Aria a seat, a meal, and a chance to breathe.

"Eat something, Aria," she would insist. "You can't work like this and survive."

Aria shook her head gently, brushing crumbs from her uniform. "I'll be fine, Margaret. Just give me my shift. I'll manage."

Margaret sighed, a mixture of worry and affection in her gaze. "You work too hard, girl. Too hard. Promise me you'll at least take five minutes to eat, just a bite."

"I promise," Aria said, but she didn't. Food felt like a luxury she couldn't afford. Every minute she spent resting was a minute wasted. Every coin she saved, every tip she kept, could be the difference between surviving the week or returning to her father empty-handed.

The night passed in a blur of orders, dishes, and long hours. She barely noticed the clock as she cleaned tables, served dishes, and refilled glasses. Margaret's soft words of encouragement echoed in her mind, but her feet ached, and her body begged for rest she refused to give. She had learned to endure pain. She had learned to survive.

Finally, the shift ended. Aria counted the few coins Margaret handed her for the night, tucking them into her pocket with careful precision. She forced herself to smile at Margaret, whispering a quiet, "Thank you," before stepping into the cold night air. Her uniform smelled of fried food and coffee, and her hair was frizzy from a long day, but she ignored it. She only had one thought: going home, saving the money, surviving another night.

The walk back to her small apartment was short but heavy with fatigue. By the time she reached her building, her shoulders sagged, her back ached, and her stomach rumbled faintly in protest. She fumbled with her keys, unlocking the door with hands that shook from exhaustion, and stepped inside, bracing herself.

The smell hit her before she saw him. Alcohol stale, sour, and pungent. Gregory Morgan was already drunk again, slouched in the living room, muttering to himself as he swirled a half-empty bottle in his hand. Aria froze, clutching her bag tightly. She had expected this. It was the usual pattern: she worked, she saved, she tried to hide, and he found out anyway.

"I'll just go to my room," she murmured, hoping to avoid confrontation. She moved quickly down the narrow hallway, her hand brushing against the worn walls as she entered her small bedroom.

Her eyes immediately went to the mattress. She had carefully tucked Margaret's tip, a small handful of coins and a few dollar bills, under the folds of the torn fabric. She knelt down to hide it, pressing it beneath the mattress and smoothing the sheets, only to freeze, the money was gone. Every cent she had hidden there was gone, vanished as though it had never existed.

Her heart raced. Her father had found it, she should have known to hide somewhere he couldn't find.

"Looking for something?" Gregory's voice slurred from the doorway. His eyes glinted dangerously in the dim light.

Aria swallowed hard, her hands instinctively clenching into fists. "I was just fixing my bed," she stammered, hoping the lie sounded convincing.

Greg's lips curled into a cruel sneer, and he took a slow step forward, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. "You little ungrateful bitch," he snarled. "I give you a place to sleep, I let you eat under my roof, and this is how you pay me back? By hiding money from me?"

Before Aria could react, his hands were in her hair, yanking her backward. Pain shot up her scalp as he forced her against the wall. His other hand struck her cheek, the slap stinging, burning, and leaving a mark that would soon bloom into purple and red. She tried to pull away, tried to find footing on the slick floor, but he held her firm.

"You think you can hide from me?" He spat, his voice rough and dangerous.

"You think you can outsmart me, Aria? You belong to me. Every penny, every breath, every moment of your miserable life belongs to me!"

Aria's chest heaved with panic, her body trembling from exhaustion, fear, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her knees buckled slightly under the pressure of his grasp, and for a brief moment, she thought she might collapse. But even in that moment of terror, a small spark of defiance flickered in her chest. She had survived worse. She had endured every insult, every slap, every stolen dollar. She had survived.

"You won't break me," she whispered, her voice shaking but resolute. "I will survive, no matter what you do."

Greg's eyes narrowed, his grip on her hair tightening. "We'll see about that," he muttered, and Aria's stomach dropped as she realized the night would not end quietly.

The room seemed to spin around her. Every sound was amplified the creak of the floorboards, the distant hum of the city, and the harsh breathing of her father. Aria pressed her back against the wall, trying to shield herself, trying to make herself small, invisible, a ghost that might escape further punishment.

But she couldn't. Her hidden tip was gone. Her small victory had been stolen before it could even mean something. And now, she was at her father's mercy once again.

The night stretched before her, dark and endless. Aria's mind raced, trying to think of an escape, a way out, or some plan to survive the hours to come. Her body ached from the long day, her stomach grumbled, and yet she forced herself to remain upright, to endure, to survive.

A loud crash from the living room reminded her of the bottle he had been drinking from earlier. She flinched, anticipating more anger, more violence, and more humiliation. Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She could endure this, she told herself. She had survived everything so far, and she would survive this too.

Greg's looming shadow fell over her again as he advanced, and Aria's pulse raced. The room felt smaller, tighter, as though the walls themselves were closing in. Every instinct screamed for her to run, to escape, but there was nowhere to go. Not tonight. Not with him drunk and raging, every ounce of her powerlessness pressed into her chest.

Her thoughts scattered in a whirlwind of fear and defiance. She thought of Margaret, of the kindness she had been shown at the restaurant, of the moments when a stranger's smile or a child's laughter reminded her that the world was not entirely cruel. She clung to those fleeting moments, letting them steel her nerves, even as her father's presence threatened to crush her completely.

"Give me that money!" Gregory snarled suddenly, his voice breaking through her thoughts. Aria's eyes widened, realizing he must have tracked every coin she had hidden. Her stomach turned sick as she searched for any possible hiding place, but it was too late. The tip she had received that evening was gone, and her small victory, her tiny act of independence, had been stripped away in seconds.

Aria's mind spun. How could she survive this night? How could she endure another moment of his violence? She pressed herself tighter against the wall, every muscle tensed, and prayed silently that morning would come soon, that some miracle would allow her to see daylight again, and that somehow, she would find the strength to continue surviving, even under the crushing weight of her father's cruelty.

The last thing she saw was his face, twisted in anger, leaning in too close, and the room spinning around her. She could only brace herself for the next strike, for the next cruel word, for the nightmare that seemed endless.