Three

The afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the floor. I moved methodically, my hands busy with the various tasks Clara had set for me. The scent of roast beef filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked bread from Mr. Turner's stall. I focused on my work, determined not to let my mind wander to the empty feeling that had settled in my chest.

Clara was bustling around the kitchen, barking orders and making sure everything was just right for the evening's guests. I barely noticed as Emily and Tessa flitted in and out, their chatter a constant hum in the background.

The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of the guests. I glanced at the clock. It was just about time. Clara's voice cut through the din. "Ivy, get those last-minute things ready. And don't forget to make sure the guests are comfortable."

I nodded, forcing a smile as I placed the last dish on the table. I'd spent the afternoon setting it up perfectly—each fork, knife, and spoon aligned just so, glasses polished to a gleam. The table looked like something out of a magazine, but all I could think about was how little of it I'd actually get to enjoy.

As I finished my final preparations, I caught sight of Aiden peeking through the slightly ajar door. His eyes were wide with curiosity, but he quickly ducked out of sight when Clara's sharp voice called out.

"Where's that boy? I told him to stay out of the way."

I sighed quietly and walked to the door, opening it just enough to see Aiden's small figure waiting hesitantly in the hallway. "Come on," I whispered, holding out my hand. "Let's find a place for you to sit where Clara won't notice."

Aiden slipped in, his face lighting up at the sight of the beautifully set table. "Wow, Ivy. It looks amazing."

"Thanks," I said, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Just stay out of the way, okay? We don't want to give Clara any reason to get mad."

He nodded and sat down in a corner, pulling out a worn book he'd brought with him. I was grateful he had something to occupy himself with; the last thing he needed was to be caught up in Clara's bad mood.

The evening progressed, and the house filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation. I moved quietly among the guests, refilling glasses and clearing plates, trying my best to blend into the background. Every now and then, I caught snippets of their conversations.

Clara's friends were a different breed entirely—rich, privileged, and with a flair for drama. I could hear them discussing their latest shopping sprees, exotic vacations, and the high-society events they attended. Their lives seemed so far removed from mine that it felt like a different world entirely.

As I passed by one of the women, I overheard her complaining about the poor quality of the roast. "Honestly, Clara, you must get your meat from the most budget place in town."

Clara's laugh was forced, and I saw her eyes narrow briefly before she plastered on a smile. "I assure you, it's the best I could find."

I bit back a smile. I'd seen Clara's budget, and I knew she'd made the roast with the little money she had. It was always like that—pretending to be something we weren't while scrimping and saving behind closed doors.

The evening dragged on, and eventually, the guests began to leave. The house grew quieter, the clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices fading away. Clara bustled around, clearing up, her mood slightly lighter now that the event was over.

I took a deep breath, letting the tension ease from my shoulders. "I'm going to check on Aiden," I said quietly, slipping out of the kitchen and heading towards his corner.

Aiden had fallen asleep, his book resting on his chest. I picked him up gently, careful not to wake him, and carried him to his room. He was getting too big for me to carry easily, but I managed, feeling a pang of sadness at how much he had to grow up too fast.

As I tucked him into bed, I couldn't help but think of how different things might have been. If Mom were still here, we wouldn't be in this situation. We'd have a house of our own, a life that didn't involve endless chores and barely making ends meet.

I sat beside him for a moment, my fingers brushing his hair back from his face. "Sleep tight, Aiden," I whispered. "I promise things will get better."

Leaving his room, I went back to the kitchen, where Clara was still cleaning up. I offered to help, but she waved me away. "No need. You've done enough for today."

"Thanks," I said, though the words felt hollow. I knew she didn't mean it. It was just another way to remind me that no matter how much I did, it would never be enough.

As I headed towards my own room, I paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing at the faded family photographs on the wall. There were pictures of Clara with her family, and a few of Mom and us from before everything changed. I ran my fingers over one of the photos, remembering the days when life felt a little more secure, a little more hopeful.

Climbing into bed, I stared at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in my mind. I wondered what it would be like if we could move away, start over somewhere new. A place where we weren't defined by the shadows of our past but by the promise of something better.

I fell asleep with those dreams in mind, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this life. For Aiden's sake, if not for my own.