you feel like HOME

CHAPTER 4

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Laila's POV

Yooyoo just dropped me off at the café, and as I walked inside, I was immediately struck by how busy it was today. It looked like it was going to be a long day, but at least my mind would be occupied. Alright, time to get to work.

TINI-TINY TIME SKIP

I was on my way home—or, more accurately, to my personal hell. My heart raced as I stepped through the door, bracing myself for whatever would come next. The moment I entered, a sharp smack across my right cheek made my head spin. The sting was immediate and intense, and before I could even process it, tears sprang to my eyes, blurring my vision.

When I managed to look up, I was met with the cold, unforgiving gaze of my mother—or, more accurately, my stepmother. The sight of her, so full of contempt, twisted something deep inside me. It hurt, but I knew there was nothing I could do.

"Where the hell have you been, you bitch?" Haneul's voice sliced through the air, dripping with venom.

I flinched, my voice trembling as I tried to explain. "I... I was... in the café..." My words came out in a stutter, and I mentally cursed myself for showing any weakness in front of her.

"Oh, the café, huh? Well, give me the money," she said, her hand reaching out with an expectant, demanding gesture.

I reluctantly handed her the cash I had earned, feeling the weight of it slipping from my fingers. But I kept a small portion back, hidden in the depths of my pocket, just in case I needed it later. I couldn't trust her, not for a second.

Here's a more descriptive and emotionally charged version of your scene:

She begins to count the money slowly, each flick of her fingers sending a wave of dread through me. I grip the small stack of tips in my pocket, hidden away from her prying eyes. She doesn't know about that extra bit of cash, and I intend to keep it that way.

As she finishes counting, her cold eyes lock onto mine, scrutinizing me with a piercing gaze. "Is this all?" she asks, her voice low and sharp, sending an icy chill down my spine.

"Yes, ma'am,'"I manage to say, my throat tight with the effort of forcing those words out. Only I know how hard it is to speak like this, how every syllable feels like it's being dragged out of me.

I know better than to call her anything other than 'ma'am.' They don't like it when I call them by their titles—father, aunt, or mother. Those words don't fit anymore. I can't bring myself to call that disgusting man my father, not when he's turned into something I don't even recognize. And the woman who replaced my mother in his heart? She's nothing more than a vile, hateful presence in my life. Calling her anything close to 'mother' would feel like betrayal, like I'm giving her something she doesn't deserve.

This is what I've come to. Just 'ma'am,' just 'sir.' Nothing else.

She gave me the usual instruction, her voice cold and indifferent, "Clean the dishes." As I stood there, hands submerged in the soapy water, my mind drifted to my soulmates—the ones I believed I didn't deserve. I couldn't shake the thought that I was a murderer, a worthless piece of shit. That's how I saw myself, how I was sure they would see me if they ever knew the truth.

After finishing the dishes, I trudged upstairs, my body exhausted, my mind clouded. I tried to focus on my schoolwork, but it felt impossible. The words blurred together, and the numbers swam in front of my eyes. Still, I forced myself to do it, pushing through the mental fog, doing my best to keep up with the work.