Elara
After breakfast, I was still reeling from Grace’s cruel words and actions. The girls had managed to eat their oatmeal—albeit reluctantly—and were now restless, looking for something else to occupy their day.
Just as I was considering taking them out to the library to spend the afternoon, Grace swept into the room. She was carrying a bucket and a sponge in her hands. Without preamble, she shoved them toward me, nearly causing the soapy water in the bucket to slosh onto the outfit she had so painstakingly prepared for me.
“There,” she said, her voice dripping with a smug kind of satisfaction. “Since you seem to think you can manage this household, let’s see you do something useful. Clean the floors. They look dreadful.”
I stared down at the bucket and sponge, my lips pa
