(Sanya’s POV)
By seven PM, I've finished everything on the list.
I'm exhausted. Filthy beyond description. Broken in ways that have nothing to do with physical injuries.
I'm heading toward my room—desperate for a bath, for clean clothes, for five minutes where no one is hurting me—when Tyron appears in the hallway.
He stops. Stares.
"What is that smell?" His nose wrinkles. "Sanya, what have you done to yourself?"
The accusation in his voice nearly breaks me.
"Your mother—"
"I don't want to hear excuses." He steps back, putting distance between us like I'm contagious. "Clean yourself up. You're an embarrassment."
He walks away.
Doesn't ask what happened. Doesn't care.
Just leaves me standing there, covered in sewage, reeking, humiliated.
I make it to my room before the tears com
