A week had passed since Evelyn had arrived at the convent. The initial shock of her escape had faded, and her body was starting to feel stronger. She still felt soreness in her muscles and the faint ache of bruises, but each day the pain was less sharp.
Evelyn moved through the hallways carrying a basket of laundry, placing the folded cloth carefully on a wooden table. She had learned the daily routines quickly. She watered the small garden, swept the floors, and helped with the cooking. At first, it had felt strange to do these simple tasks, but she began to notice a quiet satisfaction in them. The work was steady, predictable, and it gave her a sense of control she hadn’t felt since leaving the estate.
Living at the convent felt… normal. For the first time in what felt like forever, sh
