At nineteen, I was still my stepdad's little treasure, pampered and protected.

He showered me with gifts, whipped up my favorite dishes, and made sure I was tucked in each night.

Even with a broken leg, he insisted on preparing my evening foot soak.

Everyone envied my relationship with him, yet they didn't know he never truly saw me as his daughter.

He took in his late friend's slow-witted son, a promise made long ago.

That son, after years behind bars, was about to regain his freedom.

***

As the steam rose, my stepdad hovered, asking, "Nina, isn't that too hot?"

I tested the water briefly and recoiled from the heat.

As I moved to add some cold water, he pressed down on my shoulders with one hand, fetching cold water with the other.

His face lit up with a grin as my feet settled into the perfect temperature.

Grinning, I thanked him, "Thanks, Dad."

He dried my feet and set down my slippers, chuckling, "Don't mention it. I did the same for Mikey, remember?"

"Mikey's about to be released, right?"

Staring at the moon, he mused, "Indeed, six years have flown by. How you've both grown!"

Post-foot bath, as I climbed into bed, he fussed over me, ensuring I was snug and secure before killing the lights.

Lying still, I knew he was watching. The slightest move and he'd be back, probing, "Nina, something on your mind? Come on, you can tell Dad."

Sick of this charade at nineteen, I craved independence.

His slow retreat finally granted me solitude, the sound of his dragging footsteps fading into silence.

Peering through a cracked door, I caught him commanding my mom to wash his feet, her compliance painfully clear as she kneeled before him.

An unexpected kick sent her tumbling, the water basin clattering to the ground.

She hurried to fetch more water, her attempts to soothe him evident as she gently lifted his foot.

Yet another kick met her face, water cascading down her, her clothes clinging desperately to her frame.

He sneaked a glance my way before dragging her off to their room, his words trailing behind him, "If it weren't for your daughter, why would I marry you?"

I buried myself under the covers, my hand finding the reassuring shape of a knife beneath my pillow.

My mom's marriage to him was a transaction made a decade ago, orchestrated by my eager-to-sell grandparents.

My biological father, a violent alcoholic, left her mentally scarred from his assaults—her beauty marred, her expressions those of a haunted figure in a thriller.

His accidental overdose—an ironic escape from our debt-ridden existence, left us to fend off the daily threats alone.

While others my age were escorted to school, I navigated a life dodging danger with my mother.

Resentment towards Mom's weak spirit and unlucky streak grew within me.

When my stepdad first saw her, like the others, he initially recoiled in disgust.

But catching a glimpse of me, pretending to study nearby, sparked a different interest.

"I've always wanted a sweet daughter," he beamed, sealing our fates with three thousand dollars.

That was what the deal cost him, and my grandparents agreed to send us to him.

His secluded, rural home was a stark contrast to any semblance of normalcy, its entrance marked by a young man with a cigarette.

Squatting, he pinched my cheek and stammered, "Little lady, grow up fast... to marry..."

I was afraid and started sobbing.

My tears prompted a stern slap from my stepdad, "She's Nina. Everything good is hers to share now, understand?"

He tried to offer me the cigarette, but as I coughed from the smoke, his grin widened, revealing stained teeth.

He lowered his hand and left my only nice dress with a burn hole.

Known simply as Mike, he had been part of the household.

Some villagers told me, since his father, my stepdad's best friend, who had once saved my stepdad's life, had died, leaving his care to my stepdad. My stepdad treated Mike like his real son because of his sterility.

Labeled the village idiot, even my stepdad conceded his limitations, though I saw through the act—his troubles often shielded by feigned stupidity.

He was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to drinking, gambling, and womanizing. A middle school dropout with a stutter, he played the obedient kid in front of the elders. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, but bold enough to come off as a fool.

His sinister glances towards me were restrained only by the respect he held for my stepdad.

Eventually, his misadventures led him to trouble that couldn't be ignored.

Six years of reform and incarceration gave me a temporary reprieve from his looming presence.

It was also when my stepdad showed me the most kindness, tethering me to a life restricted within the village boundaries and cutting short further education.

He even got Madam Lewis, the local psychic, to back him up, claiming I'd meet with misfortune if I left the village before I turned twenty.

The moment I so much as stepped near the village boundary, some nosy neighbor would be watching me like a hawk.

Now, with Mike's impending return, the village buzzes with anticipation, my stepdad's pockets heavy with the proceeds from sold livestock.

My nightmares, it seemed, were set to resume.

Under cover of darkness, I sneaked out of bed, vaulted through the window, and jumped across the thorny rooftop to Sickly Kid's house.

That was Liam Thomas, the village's odd one out. Unlike most who couldn't afford to live here, he moved in specifically for some "wellness" living.

He even hosted a cooking contest to find a personal chef, providing all the ingredients himself. My mom won first prize.

Just like everyone else, he didn't want to see my mom's face, so she cooked at home, and I was the delivery girl.

Every time I delivered his meals, he'd courteously say, 'Thanks.'

Handsome and intelligent, rumor had it he was bound for college abroad after summer.

We were sort of friends, and yeah, I kinda had a crush on him.

As I called out to him at his bedside, he thought he was dreaming and yanked me into his arms.

I snapped at him, biting his arm, "Let go of me."

He came to with a start, sitting up abruptly, "Holy crap, how did you get in here? What's up with the late-night visit?"

"Mike's getting out soon, and they'll force me to marry him. Can you help me escape?"

The room fell silent except for the sound of my anxious breathing. He asked, "When do you want to go?"

"The sooner, the better."

"Tomorrow morning at nine. My friend will come to pick me up. You can join us."

His quick agreement surprised me, and, moved, I hugged him tightly, "Thank you, I owe you one."

He kissed me, and in the heat of the moment, started to undress me.

Startled and shy, I pushed him away, retraced my steps home, and quickly slipped into a peaceful sleep.

The next morning, I woke to find my period had started.

A large red stain marked the sheets. Mom saw it, took it silently, and soaked it in the laundry basin.

A hot, delicious breakfast awaited me on the table.

I sometimes questioned her simplicity; she was diligent, observant, and kept everything orderly.

Not like those mindless types who just smile and drool.

More like a robot, especially obedient to my stepdad.

I wondered, did she ever resent him when he was cruel to her?

With my departure looming, I hugged her from behind, seeking comfort in her warmth.

She brushed off my embrace with a greasy hand.

I whispered, "Mom, once I'm settled, I'll come for you."

She paused, her twisted expression growing even more distorted as she pushed me aside to serve breakfast.

At breakfast, my stepdad heaped the lion's share of meat into our plates. In my presence, he treated both me and Mom well, only revealing his true nature late at night.

I played the obedient daughter; confronting him would only backfire.

I took the meal to Liam's, where he ate methodically.

I paced back and forth, nervously eyeing the road.

As he wiped his mouth, Liam commented, "Your stepdad treats you so well, I'm almost jealous. Are you really planning to turn your back on him?"

The sun scorched my forehead as I retorted, "Great, isn't it? Why don't we switch? You can be his son!"

At last, a sleek black sedan pulled up, and a young man grinned at Liam, "She's the one leaving?"

I settled into the back seat. The guy sparked up a cigarette and started making small talk. Impatient, I urged him on.

As we drove off, I mapped out my next steps: find a temp job, save some cash, and keep moving.

I heard the familiar creak of a tricycle. Peeking out, I saw my stepdad, hunched over, unable to see inside. I ducked.

"Step on it, handsome," I muttered, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach.

But the car seemed to slow as if sensing my urgency.

"Hold on, sir," came Liam's voice from the front seat.

My heart froze.

"You're nuts! Trying to get me killed?" I snapped at the driver, "Drive, now!"

But the car stalled, the suffocating air pressing in on me.

The door flew open, and Liam dragged me out.

My stepdad approached, his expression unreadable, leaning on his crutch. "Nina, where are you headed? Isn't home good enough?"

Liam's grin was that of a prankster whose trick had succeeded. I felt a chill.

Collapsing to the ground, I pleaded, "Dad, I just wanted to see the world for once. Like those city folks on TV, eating fried chicken, drinking coffee, watching the ocean..."

Villagers gathered, eager for drama, advising me,

"Nina, listen to your dad. Remember what happened to that girl who got tricked and came back ruined?"

"You're so naive; what if you get deceived? Your dad's just looking out for you."

"The fortune teller said after you turn twenty, then you can go. Just wait a bit longer, okay?"

My stepdad remained silent, tears rolling down as he stooped lower.

"Look at you, all grown up and still making your dad worry. Maybe they should just lock you up at home."

"Teenagers these days are too wild; they need to be watched closely."

As their critical eyes bore into me, I clutched at my stepdad's shirt, admitting, "Dad, I was wrong. I was just too curious."

He sighed heavily, the image of benevolence, "Nina, you know you can talk to me. I worry to death when you're out with boys. Let's wait for Mike to return after the holidays, he'll take you out then."

I nodded, my plans thoroughly derailed. Liam kept the real reason for my attempted escape to himself, diplomatically offering his hand, "Miss, let's get you home."

The charade ended with everyone laughing.

Mom was at the door, looking out. Seeing me return, she handed me a cup of ginger soup.

In a flash of anger, I knocked it over, the red spilling everywhere. I glared at her bitterly as she quietly cleaned up the mess.

My stepdad had removed the TV, claiming it filled our heads with lies.

"Girls should learn housekeeping, sewing, and how to care for their future husbands—that's what's truly important."

He often complained about my rebelliousness to neighbors, saying I was hard to manage.

Every time I stepped out, some kid would run off to tattle.

The next time I brought food to Liam, I added a little something extra.

Threatening me, his once charming face now looked sinister, "If your stepdad knew you didn't want to marry that fool, would he still be so kind? Maybe keeping you caged at home like a pet would be better."

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Here's an idea—go into that room, strip, and let me snap a few photos, for old times' sake."

Fuming but cornered, I clenched my fists, whispering, "Give me some time."

"One week. Think it over. I never force anyone," he smirked, patting my back gently as if to reassure me.

Defeated, I bowed my head. If even someone I thought had my back could turn on me, who was left to trust?