Chapter 3

My dad's eyes, usually twinkling with mischief, were clouded with pain as they landed on me. He stood there, a silhouette against the bright sunlight, and the joy of his return crumpled into something akin to heartbreak. He watched me, his daughter, the girl he'd left behind, shoveling manure in the dusty shed.

Before he could utter a word, Grace, my stepmother, was there, her voice sharp and laced with a false concern, "Ella, why are you doing these chores? There are servants, right? Why aren't you studying?"

I saw right through the charade. It was Grace who had assigned me this task, who delighted in stripping away my time for anything else. A forced smile stretched across my lips, "It's okay, Mum. I don't mind."

Grace's smile was a brittle imitation, "See? She wants to do it herself. I didn't ask her to clean or anything."

Then, his voice, warm and laced with a familiar love, cut through the tension. "My baby, it's been a long time. You have become so thin. Come here, let me hug you."

Thin. Yes, I was thin. The meager portions of food, the constant labor, the lack of rest; it had all taken its toll. I wanted nothing more than to melt into his embrace, to feel safe in his familiar hold. But shame held me back. "No, Dad. It's okay, I stink of manure."

He dismissed my worries with a wave of his hand, "You're my child, I don't care about how you smell. Stop doing this and go bathe. I have a lot to talk to you."

"Okay," I replied, offering a small, genuine smile, one untainted by the bitterness I usually felt.

The bath was a brief respite. I am dressed in a cotton kurta, a garment Grace usually forbade except when my father was present. It was a small act of rebellion, a reminder of the life I once knew of.

With trepidation, I entered the living room, where my father was waiting. "What is it, Dad? What do you want to talk about?"

As if on cue, Grace barged into the room, her fake smile plastered onto her face. "Ah, Grace!" Her father greeted her, "It's good you're here. I wanted to discuss some things." He turned to Ella, his tone serious. "Ella, you're 23 now, and I want you to get married as soon as possible."

Marriage. The word sent a jolt of fear through me. Marriage meant escape, a life beyond this stifling house, beyond Grace's cruelty. But would escape mean trading one prison for another? I almost nodded, desperate for any change, when Grace intervened, her voice laced with carefully veiled objections.

"How is that possible? She's only 23 and she's studying." Grace's eyes met mine, the mask of concern slipping to reveal the calculating mind beneath. If I am married off, who would do all the work? Who would cater to her and her daughter, Belle's, whims? "Ella is studying, and she's very hardworking. She's achieved many things. But look at Belle, she doesn't even have enough marks to get to college! Let's marry Belle off first, then we can marry Ella. What do you think?" She turned to her husband, her question cloaked in a pretense of fairness.

"Ridiculous!" my father retorted, his tone sharp. "Ella is the eldest, so she should be married off first."

Grace murmured a frustrated "but…"

"There's nothing to discuss anymore. Tomorrow, the boy and his parents will come to see you. Be ready, okay, Ella?"

I nodded, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. I glanced at Grace, whose face was a picture of controlled fury. She may have temporarily lost this round but I know that Grace wouldn't be defeated so easily. She would still try to make my life a misery, despite my father's presence.

As I laid in my bed that night, my heart pounded against my ribs. Fear, uncertainty, a flicker of hope – a strange mix coursing through my veins. My father's sudden pronouncements had thrown my world into disarray. Marriage had always been a vague, far-off concept. Now, it was to be my reality. A door, perhaps, to a new life. Or another trap. Anyhow I could escape from this living hell.