The morning light came through the heavy silk curtains of the master bedroom.
Ava lay beneath the thick blankets with a painful bandage wrapped around her forehead.
Her body felt heavy and weak after the terrible car accident three days ago.
The doctor had told her to rest quietly for at least two full weeks.
However, her stepmother Mrs. Mitchell had completely different plans for the poor girl.
The heavy bedroom door swung open with a loud and sudden bang.
Mrs. Mitchell marched right up to the side of the wooden bed frame.
She wore her expensive green silk pajamas and carried a very angry glare.
Without any hesitation, she grabbed Ava by her bruised shoulder and pulled hard.
Mrs. Mitchell: You're not dead yet!
Mrs. Mitchell: Get up right now and cook breakfast for me!
Ava: Please, I can hardly move my legs today.
Mrs. Mitchell: Stop making lazy excuses in my house!
Ava: My head hurts so badly, and I need my medicine.
Mrs. Mitchell: You will get nothing until the kitchen is clean!
Ava let out a soft groan as she slumped back onto her pillow.
Her trembling right hand reached out toward the wooden nightstand beside the bed.
She just wanted to grab her small phone and call for emergency medical help.
She also needed the prescription bottles that sat right beside the lamp shade.
Mrs. Mitchell slapped her hand away with a cold and bitter laugh.
Mrs. Mitchell: You do not need any phone or pills right now.
Mrs. Mitchell: You only need to learn some basic respect for your elders.
Ava: This was my father's house before he passed away last year.
Mrs. Mitchell: He left everything to me when he died in that hospital.
Ava shut her eyes tightly to hide the warm tears falling down her cheeks.
She knew her father had loved her deeply before his sudden passing from illness.
He would never have left his only daughter at the mercy of this woman.
Yet Mrs. Mitchell had taken control of the entire estate immediately after the funeral.
She had locked away all the legal papers inside a massive steel floor safe.
Ava had been treated like a maid in her own childhood home ever since.
Now she was injured and helpless in her own tiny second-floor bedroom.
She felt completely trapped without any money or friends to rescue her today.
Mrs. Mitchell stood over the bed with her arms crossed over her chest.
Mrs. Mitchell: I am giving you five minutes to get downstairs.
Mrs. Mitchell: If you are not in the kitchen, I will throw you out.
Ava: You cannot do that to me while I am injured.
Mrs. Mitchell: Just watch me do it, you ungrateful little girl.
The stepmother turned around and stomped heavily toward the open bedroom doorway.
Ava gasped for fresh air as panic began to settle inside her chest.
She knew she needed professional help before her severe head injury grew worse.