01
The day James came to find me, I was crouched in an alley, washing dishes.
it was the dead of winter. My hands were soaked in ice–cold water, swollen, red and numb,
yet I kept scrubbing mechanically, repeating the same motion over and over again.
One cent per dish.
If I finished this whole tub, I could afford a piece of bread from the 7–Eleven.
A single piece of bread was my only meal for the day.
Just as the red basin was about to be emptied, I heard someone call my name.
It was James Anderson.
Dressed in a tailored suit, he stood in stark contrast to the filth of the alley.
I froze, my hands stiff in the freezing water, I stared in disbelief as his tall figure came closer. But there was no sense of relief, no feeling of being saved from my suffering. Instead, it felt like a lifetime had passed since we last met.
“Time to come home,”
He stood before me, looking down from above.
I didn’t move. I just stared at him, and in the reflection of his eyes, I saw myself, wrapped in a tattered cotton jacket, hair unkempt, face gaunt and weary.
There was a stark contrast between us.
Seeing that I wasn’t responding, James grew impatient and reached out to pull me up.
I flinched, my hands slipping, and a porcelain plate tumbled from my grasp.
The moment it shattered, my body reacted before my mind could catch up. I curled up on the ground, clutching my head, and frantically begged for mercy.
Three years of beatings had conditioned me to react this way.
Just the mere thought of a fist landing on my body sent uncontrollable shivers down my spine. Tears and snot streamed down my face as I choked out desperate pleas.
“Don’t hit me. I was wrong. I was wrong… I won’t do it again…”
James stiffened.
“Chloe, who are you putting on this act for? You were only abroad for three years.”
His voice carried anger as if he was certain I was pretending.
If this were in the past, I would have panicked at his misunderstanding and desperately tried to explain myself.
But now, I could say nothing except for those same broken pleas. Terror had hollowed me out, I was so afraid that I collapsed onto the ground, frantically trying to piece the shattered porcelain back together.
My hands trembled as I worked in haste. The jagged edges soon sliced into my already swollen fingertips, fresh blood seeping out and mixing with the murky water.
But I felt nothing. All I could think about was avoiding a beating.
Breaking a plate meant more than just pain. It meant I wouldn’t get paid.
But now, 1 could say nothing except for those same broken pleos for bed hollowed me out. I was so afraid that I collapsed onto the ground, frantically trying to piece the interes porcelain back together,
My hands trembled as I worked in hoste. The jagged edges soon sliced into my doggy swollen fingertips, fresh blood seeping out and mixing with the murky water
But I felt nothing. All I could think about was avoiding a beating.
Breaking a plate meant more than just pain, it meant I wouldn’t get pois
No money meant no bread. No bread meant another night of hunger
The cold, the hunger, the pain… I had endured them too many times over the post three years. Even just thinking about it now made my stomach clench with fear
