Chapter Five

The moment I awaken the next day, I swiftly leap out of bed, driven by a strong desire to avoid upsetting anyone. The events of the previous night were still fresh in my mind. I know that I need to tread carefully. Stepping out of my room, I am suddenly handed Violet, who is crying uncontrollably, while Denise gazes at me with a stern expression. My heart sinks as I realize that today is going to be far from ordinary.

 “You won't be going to school anymore,” she declares, her voice firm and unwavering. “I've prepared bottles of breastmilk for Violet, and you'll be responsible for taking care of her throughout the day.” The weight of her words settles heavily on my shoulders as I try to comprehend the magnitude of this new responsibility. I had always been the youngest in the family, never having to take care of anyone but myself. Now, I am thrust into the role of a caregiver, with no prior experience or knowledge.

Denise continues, her tone unyielding. “Additionally, when the other two children return home, you'll be responsible for meeting all their needs from now on.” My mind races, trying to process the enormity of this task. How will I manage to juggle the needs of three children, each with their own unique demands and personalities? Doubt and anxiety begin to creep in, but I know that I have no choice but to rise to the occasion.

 “Oh, and don't forget your list of chores,” Denise adds, almost as an afterthought. The weight on my shoulders increases, as I realize that not only do I have to care for the children, but I also have a long list of household tasks to complete. The pressure mounts, and I can feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on me.

 “After that, make sure to head to the pack house because they have assigned tasks for you as well,” Denise concludes, her voice leaving no room for negotiation. The realization hits me that my day is not just filled with familial duties, but also obligations to the pack. The pack house, a place of both camaraderie and hierarchy, now becomes another arena where I must prove my worth and fulfill my duties.

 As I stand there, holding a crying Violet, Denise's words echo in my mind. The weight of the world seems to rest on my shoulders, and I can't help but wonder if I am capable of shouldering this immense responsibility. But deep down, I know that I have no choice but to try.

 Just as she turns away from me, I can only utter, “Yes, ma'am,” while she nonchalantly walks out the door, seemingly devoid of any concern or worry.

 As I grab a bottle and gently warm it up, I make my way to the cozy living room where Violet awaits. Together, we head towards her changing table, but before reaching it, I climb up the stairs to locate the room she is in. Inside, I find her diapers, wipes, and a selection of adorable clothes neatly arranged. With everything in hand, I carefully carry her back downstairs, ready to embark on the journey of mastering the art of diaper changing and dressing.

 With a sense of accomplishment, I successfully complete the task and reach for her bottle. Nestling comfortably on the couch, I cradle Violet in my arms and lovingly feed her, cherishing these precious bonding moments. As she gradually drifts off to sleep, I gently lay her down on the soft floor, ensuring she is snugly covered with a cozy blanket.

 With Violet peacefully resting, I shift my attention to the morning chores. I efficiently tidy up the dishes, clearing away any remnants of breakfast, and then proceed to tackle the list of tasks Denise has assigned me. Time seems to fly by as I immerse myself in the chores, but suddenly, the sound of laughter and excitement fills the air as the other children, accompanied by Juan, burst through the front door.

 Juan instructs me, “Make sure you change and feed the other two before I leave tonight.” As he exits the room, I feel a sense of confusion and apprehension wash over me. The responsibility of caring for children is completely foreign to me, and I am unsure of where to begin. However, I realize that I have no other option but to step up to the challenge. Taking a deep breath, I gather the children and lead them to their room.

  I rummage through the drawers. Causing me to become overwhelmed by the sheer number of clothes and options available. I try to remember Juan's instructions about their sizes and preferences, but my mind feels like a jumbled mess. I pick out a few outfits I think might work and lay them out on the bed, hoping that they will be suitable.

 Next, I turn my attention to the laundry. The washing machine hums to life as I carefully separate the children's clothes from the rest of the laundry. I add detergent and press the buttons, praying that I have done it correctly. The sound of water rushing into the machine brings a sense of relief, knowing that at least their clothes will be clean and fresh.

 With the laundry underway, I turn my attention back to the children. They watch me with curious eyes, sensing my unease. I try to put on a brave face, reminding myself that I am capable of taking care of them. I coax them into their clothes, struggling with buttons and zippers that seem to have a mind of their own. It takes a few tries, but eventually, I manage to dress them in outfits that seem appropriate for the evening.

 As I lead them downstairs, I realize that I have no idea what to feed them. I search the kitchen, opening cabinets and peeking into the fridge, hoping to find something suitable. My eyes land on a box of macaroni and cheese, a familiar and easy option. I quickly set a pot of water to boil and prepare the meal, hoping that it will be enough to satisfy their hunger.

 While the macaroni cooks, I try to engage the children in conversation, hoping to distract them from any discomfort they may be feeling. We talk about their day, their favorite toys, and their dreams. Their innocent laughter and genuine smiles bring a sense of warmth to my heart, easing my initial uncertainty.

 Finally, the macaroni is ready, and I serve it to the children, hoping that they will enjoy it. They eagerly dig in, their small mouths filled with cheesy goodness. I watch them eat, relieved that they seem content and satisfied.

 As the evening progresses, I find myself growing more comfortable in their presence. We play games, read stories, and even manage to clean up the mess we made during dinner. The children's trust in me grows, and I begin to feel a sense of accomplishment and pride.

 Juan finally makes his way back home. I find myself completely drained yet content. Throughout his absence, I have diligently taken care of the children, making sure their every need was attended to. However, as soon as Juan steps through the door, his voice filled with frustration, the children's tears begin to flow, and I am left bewildered by his accusatory question: “Why is the house in ruins?”

 My eyes well up with tears. As I gaze at him, my voice trembling as I uttered, “I deeply apologize, sir. I promise to improve myself tomorrow.” However, before I could even gather my thoughts, a sudden blow struck my face, leaving me in shock and pain. The impact was so forceful that I cried out in agony, collapsing onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

 “You will restore order to this house before you retire for the night. Or else there will be grave repercussions,” Juan asserts firmly, his grip on my hair tightening as he forcefully lifts me, eliciting a startled and painful cry from my lips.

 The impact of his forceful throw sends me crashing onto the hard floor. A searing pain shot through my body. The brutal kick to my side intensifies the agony, but I refuse to let it consume me. With a fiery determination, I push through the pain and rise to my feet, my eyes fixed on the retreating figure of my assailant. His anger radiates through the room as he stomps his way upstairs, leaving behind a trail of fear and tears on the innocent faces of the children.

 Despite the excruciating pain, I gather my strength and focus on the children, their trembling bodies seeking solace and reassurance. With a gentle touch, I run my hands along their backs, offering them comfort and a sense of security. In that moment, I vow to protect them, to shield them from the darkness that has invaded our lives. With every ounce of determination, I rise above my own pain and carry on with my responsibilities, determined to create a safe haven for these children amidst the chaos.

 Upon completing the task of tidying up the house, I notice Denise entering through the door, and her mere presence brings forth a palpable tension that engulfs the room. I can't help but notice the smirk on her face, a knowing expression that tells me Juan has probably already informed her about what happened earlier. My heart sinks as I brace myself for the impending confrontation.

 Denise walks over to Violet, our youngest daughter, and effortlessly lifts her up, her motherly instincts kicking in. With a gentle smile, she gathers the rest of the children, herding them upstairs for their bedtime routine. As they disappear from sight, I feel a pang of envy, wishing I could escape this situation as easily as they can.

 Meanwhile, I turn around and make my way outside to the shower, seeking solace in the familiar routine. The shower, recently improved with new fixtures and soothing water pressure, offers a temporary refuge from the chaos that has consumed my life. As I stand there, tears stream down my face, the water cascades over me, washing away the physical and emotional pain that has become my constant companion.

 But even in the sanctuary of the cold shower, I can't escape the reminders of what I've endured. I feel the dull ache in my side, a painful reminder of the altercation that took place earlier. Glancing down, I notice the beginnings of a bruise, a darkening patch of skin that serves as a visible testament to the abuse I've suffered.

 In a rush, I quickly finish my shower, the water mingling with my tears as they flow down the drain. I dry myself off, trying to ignore the throbbing ache in my side, and make my way back to my room. The exhaustion that has settled deep within my bones weighs me down, making each step feel like a monumental effort.

 Collapsing onto my bed, I find myself too drained to even think about eating supper. The events of the day have taken their toll, leaving me emotionally and physically depleted. As I lay there, the weight of my circumstances pressing down on me, I can't help but wonder how much longer I can endure this life of pain and constant fear.

 Gasping in agony, I desperately search for the thin sheet that has been provided for me to find solace in. The pain becomes unbearable, causing me to tightly wrap myself in the sheet as tears stream down my face. With a heavy heart, I surrender to sleep, fervently praying for a brighter tomorrow where the weight of my suffering will be lifted.