Chapter 1 - The Weight of Porcelain
The summer heat pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the estate, but inside the kitchen, a different kind of suffocating pressure had taken hold. Evelyn shifted her weight from one aching foot to the other, gently bouncing the sleeping newborn strapped to her chest. Little Leo was barely a month old, his soft breaths rhythmic against her collarbone.
Evelyn was exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes bruised her pale skin, and her blonde hair was haphazardly tied back, damp with sweat. She wore a faded pink button-down shirt, now covered by a heavy, grease-stained white apron. In front of her sat a mountain of fine china—plates smeared with remnants of caviar, raspberry coulis, and filet mignon.
Outside on the manicured lawn, the clinking of champagne flutes and the hum of polite laughter floated through the open patio doors. Beatrice, her mother-in-law, was hosting one of her infamous garden parties. Beatrice was a woman who commanded respect through intimidation, draped in pristine cream-colored silk and a string of flawless pearls.
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"Don't just stare at them, Evelyn," Beatrice had hissed earlier, stepping briefly into the kitchen to check on the caterers. "Since you aren't contributing financially to this household while Colin is at the office, the least you can do is earn your keep. Wash the plates before the caterers pack them up. It saves me the cleaning fee."
Evelyn had been too exhausted to fight back. Her husband, Colin, worked demanding hours at the firm, and she spent her days navigating the sharp edges of Beatrice’s constant criticisms. She picked up the sponge, the warm water doing nothing to soothe her trembling hands. She scrubbed the rim of a gold-leafed plate, swallowing the lump in her throat, praying for the day to end.
