Her father had arrived—finally. But instead of coming to their defense, he hesitated. He extended his hand, then pulled it back. His eyes, once warm, now darted away from hers, filled with shame and fear.
Elara's heart turned cold.
She had always known—deep down—that he wouldn't protect them. He never did. Every time her mother was humiliated, beaten, or insulted by Grandma Wynn, he either stood in stunned silence or dropped to his knees in useless apology. Nothing ever changed.
And now she saw it clearly.
She was done hoping. Done waiting.
This family wasn't a home. It was a trap—one that swallowed people whole and spat nothing back.
As if proving her point, Father Wynn spoke up, not to defend them, but to plead weakly, "Mom, you've hurt her enough. Who's going to make dinner now?"
Grandma Wynn scoffed. "I'm not dead yet, am I? I can still cook one damn meal. Tell them both to get lost!"
Without another word, she stormed off toward the kitchen.
Elara's resolve hardened in that moment.
She would take her mother and leave this place. Forever.
She turned, about to pull her mother away from this suffocating house, but her mother had already staggered up, chasing after Grandma Wynn into the kitchen.
"M-Mom, let me handle the cooking. I've done it all these years—how could I let you do it now?"
Her mother wrestled the kitchen knife from Grandma Wynn's hand in a panic, afraid the old woman might actually start chopping something—or someone—in her rage.
Grandma Wynn tried to retaliate with a swift kick, but Mother Wynn clung to her leg and begged.
"Please, Mom! I've served this family without complaint. Please forgive us this time! Elara knows she was wrong. We'll never let this happen again!"
Her voice broke as she continued, "You're getting old. This kind of work is too much for you. Let me take care of it, as always…"
For a long time, Grandma Wynn simply stood there, knife poised above the cutting board. She didn't speak. Just stared.
Then finally, she grunted, "Fine. Go cook. But after that, you kneel before the ancestral shrine—two days and two nights. No excuses."
Elara stood just outside the kitchen, watching her mother grovel and her father sit silently in the living room, puffing on a cigarette like none of this had anything to do with him.
She couldn't stay. Not another second.
She grabbed her unopened suitcase, slung it over her shoulder, and walked out the door.
The bus ride back to the city blurred past. Her vision was clouded with tears.
She had to keep working. She had to make money—enough to finally pull her mother out of that house once and for all.
A ping on her phone startled her.
"Elara, what's going on? You haven't picked up my calls. I'm fine over here. Call me when you see this, okay? I love you. —Archer"
Her chest tightened. She clutched the phone like it could stop her from falling apart.
How could she say it? How could she bring herself to end something that had lasted for two years?
It wasn't that simple. Feelings weren't like balloons you could just pop and pretend never existed.
So instead, she did the only thing she could: she hid.
Ignored his messages. Dodged his calls. Pretended.
For now.
After resting just long enough for her bruises to fade, Elara returned to work. She couldn't afford to lose her bonus.
Her days resumed—quiet, thankless, dull.
Each morning, she ordered milk, coffee, and juice for the logistics team. Delivered newspapers to everyone's desk.
When coworkers dumped their extra tasks onto her, she took them without complaint and stayed late to finish every one.
She was just an ordinary woman. Maybe even below ordinary.
No prestigious degree. No overseas education. Just a humble job in a company so massive it spanned Asia and Europe.
But to her, this job was everything.
Days slipped by and a month has passed.
She let herself pretend that the hotel night—that man—was all just a bad dream.
One morning, just like any other, she made her deliveries—coffee, juice, paperwork—and placed everything neatly on her colleagues' desks.
"Good morning," she greeted them politely.
No one answered.
She quietly withdrew and returned to her desk, hoping the flush in her cheeks would fade before anyone noticed.
Then the head of the logistics department came rushing in.
"Emergency board meeting! Everyone needs to assist. Elara Wynn, you too!"
She blinked, startled, but quickly nodded and grabbed her things.
As usual, her coworkers piled all their folders and documents into her arms, laughing as they left.
They didn't even ask. Elara was just expected to carry it all—like she always did.
She didn't complain. She never did.
Juggling the towering stack of papers, she shuffled into the elevator behind them, murmuring apologies to anyone she bumped.
The moment the doors opened, she stumbled out and hurried toward the large conference room.
Then came the shout.
"The president is here!"