The rain beat against the tall arched windows of our living room.

My father, Emiliano Duarte, adjusted his wool coat and pulled me into a brief hug.

“Two weeks in London is not that long, Daniela,” he murmured.

He leaned down to kiss my eight-year-old sister, Martina, on her forehead.

Martina clutched her favorite stuffed rabbit, Barnaby, close to her chest.

“Take care of my girls, Patricia,” my father said, turning to his fiancée.

Patricia smiled, her teeth bright and perfect under the crystal chandelier.

She adjusted his collar with manicured fingers.

“They are safe with me, Emiliano,” she said, her voice dripping with warmth.

“Go, or you will miss your flight.”

My father nodded, took his briefcase, and walked out the heavy front doors.

Ramiro, his head of security, followed him out into the dark, wet evening.

We stood by the glass and watched the black limousine roll down the long driveway.

As soon as the tail lights vanished past the iron gates, the warmth left Patricia’s face.

She turned around, her eyes cold and sharp.

“Get that disgusting toy out of my sight,” Patricia spat, pointing at Martina’s rabbit.

Martina shrank back, her eyes filling with tears.

“Barnaby is not disgusting,” Martina whispered.

Patricia stepped forward and snatched the stuffed rabbit from Martina’s arms.

“Do not talk back to me,” Patricia hissed, squeezing the toy tightly in her sharp, red nails.

I stepped between them, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“Give it back to her, Patricia,” I said, keeping my voice as steady as I could.

“You are not our mother, and you never will be.”

Patricia raised her hand, her face twisting in sudden rage.

“You ungrateful little brat,” she whispered.

Before she could strike, Rosa stepped out from the dining room corridor.

Our housekeeper held a silver tea tray, her back straight and her face expressionless.

“Miss Patricia, the chef requires your signature on the weekly inventory,” Rosa said.

Her voice was calm, but she positioned her body directly in front of Martina and me.

Patricia lowered her hand, smoothing down her expensive designer dress.

“Keep these children out of my way for the rest of the night,” Patricia snapped.