Chapter 2: Shadows of the Past

I was originally a maid in Mr. Porter’s house. My childhood was spent slipping quietly through the Porter home—polishing floors, sorting laundry, keeping my head down as the old oak boards creaked beneath my shoes.

A month ago, Mrs. Porter summoned me to the main hall. It was early spring; the foyer smelled of lemon polish, the air brisk. I smoothed my apron, heart pounding as I stepped through the double doors.

Besides Mr. and Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Porter’s cousin David Harris was there—perched on the edge of a leather armchair, hands folded, eyes darting toward the window like he wished he could disappear.

A year ago, David hit Toledo with nothing but a battered suitcase and hope, and the city ate him alive. He was mugged on his way to the bar exam and lost everything.

He showed up at the Porter door, covered in dirt, but Mrs. Porter just pressed a crumpled bill into his hand and shut the door behind him, her voice echoing: “We’re not running a shelter.”

David curled up in the back alley that night, trash bins overflowing and the wind cutting through his jacket. I watched him from the kitchen window, guilt prickling at my conscience.

The winter wind howled, snow threatened. I slipped outside, found old blankets, and made a bed for him in the garage—smelling of motor oil and cut grass. My hands shook as I tucked the threadbare blanket around him. He whispered his thanks, barely audible over the wind.

Later, Mr. Porter found him. Mr. Porter had a soft spot for smart kids—half his fortune went to scholarships and the local library. When he read David’s essays, his eyes lit up: “A mind like yours shouldn’t be wasted.” He had a guest room prepared.

For this, Mrs. Porter punished me in secret. The ruler came down on my back, sharp and relentless. She gritted her teeth: “You troublemaker. Poor relatives, once they latch on, you can never shake them off. I’ll teach you a lesson.”

I bit my lip, holding back tears. The sting was sharp, but I kept my face to the wall, jaw set. In the Porter house, silence was the only armor I had.

The louder I cried, the worse it got. I don’t know how David found out, but the next day, there was a new bruise and a gentle word from him in the hall.

He had Jenny, the maid, bring me a message: if he ever made it, he’d help me escape my lowly status. I tucked his promise away like a pressed flower—something pretty, but fragile. Hope was dangerous in that house.

Now David is the new valedictorian, and when he visited, he actually asked to marry Natalie Porter. The news was everywhere—from the mailman to the housekeeper, everyone had an opinion. Some called him ambitious, some called it love, but I knew David always reached for what he couldn’t have.