What did it matter if my stepfamily thrived on their cruelty?
Life changes; fortunes shift.
I was betting on that change.
After the last confrontation with my stepmother, things had quieted down a bit, allowing me to focus on work.
Kyle and I became good friends; during our off-hours, we would set up stalls at the night market to earn some extra cash.
Since the factory only provided dormitory accommodation for a year, we decided to share a small two-bedroom apartment.
But then my stepfather and stepmother learned about our living arrangement and stormed into our home one day, furious.
They banged on the door loudly while Kyle was out buying groceries.
"Emma! Come out! I know you're in there!"
My stepfather shouted angrily, spewing insults. "You shameless girl, just like your mother!"
I shot back defiantly, "You're the one who betrayed her!"
Hearing my voice seemed to fuel my stepmother's rage.
"You worthless piece of trash! I'll tear your mouth apart!"
With a loud crash, my stepfather kicked open the door and they both barged in, pinning me down.
He swiftly unbuckled his belt and began whipping me across the back mercilessly; each strike felt like it could break me.