I never imagined my life would come to this. Sitting on the cold, concrete floor of our basement, my body bruised and battered, I stared at the flickering light bulb above me. It cast long, eerie shadows that danced across the room, reflecting the turmoil within my soul. My mind replayed the events of the day, each memory a dagger twisting in my heart.

It started like any other morning. I woke up early, hoping to find some semblance of peace before the day’s struggles began. Eleanor was already up, her sharp voice cutting through the silence as she barked orders at her assistants over the phone. She barely acknowledged my presence, her eyes flicking over me with a mixture of disdain and indifference.

I made my way to the kitchen, my stomach growling with hunger. The fridge was nearly empty, a stark reminder of our strained finances. I grabbed a piece of bread and sat at the table, my mind racing with thoughts of how to turn our situation around. Every job application had been met with rejection, every opportunity slipping through my fingers like sand.

Eleanor entered the kitchen, her expression as cold as ever. "Don't forget, we have the charity gala tonight," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Try not to embarrass me."

I nodded, the weight of her expectations pressing down on me. The charity gala was a yearly event, a gathering of the city's elite, and Eleanor's chance to shine. For me, it was a reminder of how far I had fallen, a night spent in the shadow of my wife's success.

The day dragged on, each passing hour filled with a sense of hopelessness. I spent the afternoon searching for jobs, my efforts yielding nothing but more rejection. By the time evening came, I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. But there was no time to rest. The gala awaited, and I had to put on a brave face.

As we arrived at the grand hall, I couldn't help but feel out of place. The room was filled with laughter and chatter, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cologne. Eleanor slipped into her role effortlessly, her smile dazzling as she mingled with the other guests. I followed her lead, trying my best to blend in, but it was clear I was an outsider.

The night wore on, and my sense of isolation grew. I found myself standing near the bar, nursing a glass of water, when I overheard a conversation that made my blood run cold.

"Isn't that Eleanor's husband? The one who can't even hold down a job?"

"Yeah, what a joke. She could do so much better."

Their laughter echoed in my ears, each word a blow to my already fragile self-esteem. I turned to leave, desperate to escape the humiliation, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see Eleanor, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"You're embarrassing me," she hissed. "Can't you do anything right?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came. The room seemed to close in around me, the weight of my failures suffocating. I stumbled out of the hall, my vision blurred by tears, and found myself in the cold night air. I wandered the streets, my mind a whirlwind of despair,

I wandered the streets, my mind a whirlwind of despair, wondering how my life had come to this. The bitter wind cut through my thin coat, chilling me to the bone. I had no destination in mind, only a desperate need to escape the crushing weight of my failures and the disdain of those around me.

Eventually, I found myself at the steps of our modest home. The lights were still on inside, casting a warm glow through the windows. For a moment, I hesitated, reluctant to face the inevitable confrontation with Eleanor. But where else could I go? With a heavy heart, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Eleanor was waiting for me in the living room, her arms crossed and her expression livid. Her mother, Brenda, and her brother, Mark, were also there, their faces twisted with contempt. They had never hidden their disdain for me, and tonight was no exception.

"Where have you been?" Eleanor's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.

"I just needed some air," I mumbled, my gaze fixed on the floor.

"Needed some air?" Brenda scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You embarrass Eleanor in front of all her colleagues and then disappear without a word. Do you have any idea how much damage you've caused?"

"I... I'm sorry," I stammered, feeling smaller with each passing second.

"Sorry doesn't cut it," Mark interjected, his tone cold and dismissive. "You're a disgrace to this family. You've done nothing but drag us down since the day you walked into Eleanor's life."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed as she stepped closer, her anger palpable. "You can't even hold down a job, let alone support this family. You're nothing but a burden, a parasite living off my hard work. I'm ashamed to even be associated with you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless and reeling. I wanted to defend myself, to explain that I was trying my best, but the words caught in my throat. What was the point? They had already made up their minds about me.

"From now on," Eleanor continued, her voice icy, "you'll work for your keep. No more lazing around, no more excuses. You'll do whatever it takes to earn your place in this house. Is that clear?"

I nodded numbly, my spirit crushed beneath the weight of their contempt. "Yes, it's clear."

"Good," Brenda said with a smirk. "Now, get out of my sight. I can't stand to look at you any longer."

I retreated to the basement, the only place where I could find some semblance of solitude. The room was cold and damp, the walls lined with boxes of forgotten belongings and old furniture. It was a far cry from the life I had once imagined for myself, but it was all I had left.

As I sat on the worn-out mattress that served as my bed, I couldn't help but wonder how my life had gone so wrong. I had married Eleanor with dreams of building a future together, of creating a life filled with love and happiness. But those dreams had long since turned to ash, replaced by a grim reality of resentment and misery.

The next few days passed in a blur of exhaustion and humiliation. Eleanor and her family had decided that I was to take on all the menial tasks around the house, from cleaning to cooking to yard work. I was up before dawn and worked until well after dark, my body aching from the relentless labor.

There was no respite, no moment of peace. Every misstep was met with harsh criticism, every mistake magnified and used as further proof of my incompetence. I was no longer a husband; I was a servant, a slave to their whims and demands.

Eleanor's treatment of me grew more and more callous, her words laced with venom at every opportunity. She no longer looked at me with the pity I had once seen in her eyes. Now, there was only disdain and anger. Our interactions were reduced to commands and reprimands, each one a reminder of how far I had fallen in her eyes.

Brenda and Mark were no better. They took every chance to belittle me, to remind me of my failures and inadequacies. Brenda would often watch me with a smug smile as I scrubbed the floors or washed the dishes, her presence a constant source of discomfort. Mark, on the other hand, was more direct. He would shove me out of the way or knock things out of my hands, laughing at my struggles.

The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months. The work never ended, and neither did the torment. I had become a shadow of my former self, my once-hopeful spirit now buried beneath layers of despair and exhaustion. I moved through each day like an automaton, my mind numb to the endless cycle of labor and abuse.

One particularly cold morning, as I shoveled snow from the driveway, I overheard a conversation between Eleanor and Brenda through the open kitchen window. Their voices were low, but the words carried clearly in the still air.

"Why do you keep him around?" Brenda asked, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's worthless. You could easily replace him with someone who actually contributes to the household."

Eleanor sighed, her voice tinged with frustration. "I know, Mother. But divorcing him would be messy, and it would reflect poorly on me. For now, it's easier to keep him here, under control."

Their words cut deeper than any physical blow ever could. I realized that I was not even considered a person to them, merely a convenience, a tool to be used and discarded at their whim. The last remnants of my self-respect crumbled away, leaving me hollow and broken.

The next morning dawned with a gray, oppressive sky that seemed to mirror my own spirits. I shuffled up the basement stairs, my limbs heavy and sore from the previous day’s work. The house was still quiet, Eleanor and her family not yet awake. This was the only time I felt a modicum of peace, before the day's relentless demands began.

I started on breakfast, making sure to prepare everything just as Eleanor liked it. Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, freshly squeezed orange juice, and perfectly buttered toast. Every detail had to be exact, or it would earn me another round of harsh words and critical glares. My stomach churned with anxiety as I worked, the thought of another day filled with their disdain almost too much to bear.

As the smell of breakfast filled the air, the house began to stir. Eleanor emerged first, her hair perfectly styled, her clothes immaculate. She barely glanced at me as she sat down at the table, her focus entirely on her phone. Brenda and Mark followed shortly after, their faces set in their usual expressions of contempt.

I served them in silence, making sure everything was just right before retreating to the kitchen. From there, I listened to their conversation, my heart sinking with every word.

"Look at him," Mark said, his voice dripping with derision. "Scurrying around like a rat. It's pathetic."

"He should be grateful we even let him stay here," Brenda added. "If it were up to me, he'd be out on the street where he belongs."

Eleanor sighed, a sound that spoke volumes of her frustration and disappointment. "I know, but he's useful in his own way. Someone has to do the dirty work."

Their laughter grated on my ears, each peal a reminder of my lowly status. I fought back the tears that threatened to spill, swallowing the lump in my throat. This was my life now, a never-ending cycle of degradation and hopelessness.

After breakfast, the day's tasks began in earnest. I cleaned the dishes, scrubbed the floors, and tended to the yard. The work was physically demanding, but it was the constant barrage of insults and demeaning comments that truly wore me down. No matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. I was never enough.

That afternoon, as I finished mowing the lawn, Brenda called me into the living room. Her expression was one of thinly veiled disdain, her eyes cold and calculating. She reclined on the couch, her feet propped up on a cushion.

"My feet are killing me," she said, her tone making it clear that this was not a request. "Massage them."

I hesitated for a moment, a flicker of defiance stirring within me. But it was quickly snuffed out by the reality of my situation. I couldn't afford to anger them further. With a resigned sigh, I knelt at her feet and began to massage them, my hands trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and humiliation.

Brenda watched me with a smirk, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Harder," she ordered, and I complied, pressing my thumbs into the arches of her feet.

As I worked, she continued to belittle me, her voice a constant stream of criticism. "You're so weak. No wonder you can't hold down a job. You can't even give a proper massage."

Her words stung, but I kept my head down, focusing on the task at hand. I could feel the anger and frustration building inside me, but I had learned to suppress it. Any outburst would only make things worse.

Eleanor entered the room, glancing at me with a look of mild curiosity. "Mother, what are you doing?"

"Just putting him to use," Brenda replied, her tone dismissive. "At least this way he's doing something useful."

Eleanor shrugged, clearly uninterested in my plight. "Well, make sure he finishes the laundry next. I need my dress cleaned for tonight."

I nodded silently, the thought of more work adding to my already overwhelming sense of hopelessness. As Brenda finally let me go, I retreated to the laundry room, my hands aching and my spirit even more so.

The laundry room was a small, cramped space, filled with the constant hum of the washing machine and the scent of detergent. I sorted through the clothes, making sure to follow Eleanor's strict instructions. Each item had to be handled with care, washed and dried just so. Any mistake would result in another round of scolding.

As I worked, my mind wandered back to the vision I had seen. The figure bathed in light, the promise of ancient power. It seemed like a distant dream now, a flicker of hope that was quickly fading. How could I possibly rise above this misery? How could I unlock the power within me when I was trapped in this endless cycle of servitude?

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The hours dragged on, each task blending into the next. I cooked dinner, cleaned the bathrooms, and scrubbed the floors. By the time evening came, I was exhausted, my body aching from the relentless work. But there was no rest. There was always something more to do, some new demand to meet.

As I finished washing the dishes after dinner, Eleanor called me into the living room. She was seated on the couch, her eyes fixed on her phone. Brenda and Mark were there as well, their expressions as cold and unfeeling as ever.

"I need you to run an errand for me," Eleanor said, not bothering to look up. "There's a package at the post office that needs to be picked up. And don't take too long. I don't want you slacking off."

I nodded, too tired to argue. The post office was a good half-hour walk from the house, but it wasn't like I had a choice. I grabbed my coat and headed out into the night, the cold air biting into my skin.

The walk to the post office was long and lonely, the streets deserted at this hour. I kept my head down, my thoughts swirling with a mixture of despair and determination. I had to find a way out of this. I had to find a way to unlock the power within me.

The package was heavy, and the walk back even more arduous. By the time I returned home, my arms were trembling with fatigue. I handed the package to Eleanor, who barely acknowledged me before returning to her phone.

"You took long enough," Brenda said with a sneer. "I hope you didn't dawdle."

I shook my head, too weary to respond. I headed back to the basement, my sanctuary of solitude. As I lay on the cold mattress, the events of the day replayed in my mind. The endless chores, the constant belittling, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness. It was a life I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.

The days continued to blur together, each one a test of my endurance and resolve. But there was no end in sight, no light at the end of the tunnel. I endured the misery, the humiliation, and the hopelessness, all the while feeling trapped in a life that offered no escape. This was my reality, a never-ending cycle of despair and servitude, with no hope of redemption or change. I was a prisoner in my own life, and there was no way out.

The days became a blur of endless labor and unrelenting scorn. Every morning, I woke before the sun rose, my body aching from the previous day's toil. My tasks began the moment my eyes opened, and I moved through the house like a shadow, cleaning, cooking, and tending to every demand made by Eleanor and her family. I was not just a husband; I had become a slave in my own home.

Eleanor's schedule was always the priority. Her clothes had to be perfectly ironed, her meals precisely prepared, and her work bag packed with meticulous care. She treated me as little more than a servant, her once fleeting kindness now replaced entirely by a cold detachment. She didn't speak to me unless it was to issue a command or a rebuke, and even then, her words were clipped and harsh.

One evening, as I was preparing dinner, Brenda walked into the kitchen, her nose wrinkling in disdain. "This smells burnt," she said, her tone accusatory. "Can't you do anything right?"

I glanced at the stove, my heart sinking. The roast I had spent hours preparing was indeed slightly overcooked. "I'm sorry, I'll make something else," I mumbled, my face flushing with embarrassment.

"No, you'll serve it," Brenda snapped. "Maybe if you tasted your own failures, you'd learn to do better."

I nodded, swallowing my pride, and continued to cook. When dinner was served, the family picked at their food with barely concealed disgust, their silence more damning than any words. Brenda shot me glares across the table, while Mark made a point of loudly scraping his plate before pushing it away.

After dinner, Eleanor handed me a list of chores that needed to be done before I could sleep. The list was always long, filled with menial tasks designed to keep me busy and exhausted. I scrubbed floors, washed windows, and did load after load of laundry, my body screaming in protest but my spirit too broken to refuse.

One night, as I was folding laundry, Mark barged into the basement, a cruel smirk on his face. "Hey, Cinderella," he taunted. "Got a ball to attend?"

I ignored him, focusing on folding Eleanor's delicate dresses. My silence only seemed to fuel his anger.

"You know," he continued, stepping closer, "you're not even a man anymore. Just a pathetic excuse for one."

His words stung, but I kept my head down, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Mark grabbed a handful of clean clothes and tossed them onto the dirty floor, laughing as he did so.

"Oops," he said mockingly. "Looks like you have more work to do."

I bent down to pick up the clothes, my hands trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and suppressed rage. But I couldn't fight back. I couldn't stand up for myself. All I could do was endure.

Eleanor's demands only grew more unreasonable as time went on. She expected me to be at her beck and call, day and night. If she needed a late-night snack, I was to fetch it. If she wanted her shoes polished, I was to do it immediately, regardless of what other tasks I was juggling. There was no respite, no moment of peace.

One particularly grueling day, Eleanor decided to host a dinner party for her colleagues. The preparation fell entirely on my shoulders. I spent hours cleaning the house from top to bottom, cooking a multi-course meal, and setting the table with our finest china. By the time the guests arrived, I was already exhausted, but there was no time to rest.

Throughout the evening, I was treated as an invisible presence, there only to serve and then disappear. Eleanor's colleagues barely acknowledged my existence, except to bark orders or criticize my efforts. Eleanor herself seemed to take pleasure in my humiliation, her eyes cold and distant as she watched me scramble to meet every demand.

As the night wore on, one of Eleanor's colleagues, a particularly unpleasant man named Richard, spilled his drink on the carpet. He glanced at me with a sneer, his voice dripping with condescension. "Clean this up, will you?"

I rushed to fetch cleaning supplies, my hands shaking with fatigue. As I scrubbed the stain, I could feel the weight of their eyes on me, their laughter echoing in my ears. I was nothing more than entertainment to them, a pitiful figure to mock and deride.

When the guests finally left, I was left to clean up the aftermath. The house was a disaster, with food and drink spilled everywhere, dirty dishes piled high, and furniture out of place. I worked through the night, my body screaming for rest, but there was no choice. This was my life now, a ceaseless cycle of labor and humiliation.

By the time I finished, the sun was beginning to rise. I collapsed onto the cold mattress in the basement, my limbs heavy with exhaustion. Sleep was my only escape, a brief reprieve from the endless torment. But even in sleep, I found no peace. My dreams were filled with the faces of Eleanor and her family, their voices echoing in my mind, a constant reminder of my worthlessness.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months. Each day was the same, a relentless grind of servitude and degradation. There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no hope for a better future. My life had become a prison, and I was its most miserable inmate.

Eleanor's contempt for me only seemed to grow. She found new ways to belittle me, new demands to make my life even more unbearable. Brenda and Mark followed suit, their cruelty knowing no bounds. I was their punching bag, their scapegoat, the object of their endless derision.

One particularly cold morning, as I shoveled snow from the driveway, I overheard a conversation between Eleanor and Brenda through the open kitchen window. Their voices were low, but the words carried clearly in the still air.

"Why do you keep him around?" Brenda asked, her tone dripping with disdain. "He's worthless. You could easily replace him with someone who actually contributes to the household."

Eleanor sighed, her voice tinged with frustration. "I know, Mother. But divorcing him would be messy, and it would reflect poorly on me. For now, it's easier to keep him here, under control."

Their words cut deeper than any physical blow ever could. I realized that I was not even considered a person to them, merely a convenience, a tool to be used and discarded at their whim. The last remnants of my self-respect crumbled away, leaving me hollow and broken.

The cycle continued, day after day, night after night. I was a slave to their whims, my life a never-ending nightmare from which there was no escape. There was no hope, no redemption, no light at the end of the tunnel. Just an endless, suffocating darkness that consumed me whole.

And so, I continued to endure, my spirit crushed beneath the weight of their cruelty. There was no end in sight, no reprieve from the constant torment. My life had become a living hell, and I was its most wretched inhabitant.

The days continued to grind on, each one a mirror of the last, filled with labor, scorn, and unrelenting humiliation. The oppressive atmosphere of the house weighed heavily on me, my spirit worn down to a frayed thread of existence. I was a ghost, a mere shadow in a world that held no place for me.

One evening, after an especially brutal day of chores and reprimands, I decided to take a walk. The cold night air stung my skin, but it was a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere of the house. I wandered aimlessly through the empty streets, my mind numb with exhaustion and despair.

As I rounded a corner, I noticed a group of young men loitering near a convenience store. Their laughter was loud and brash, cutting through the stillness of the night. I tried to walk past them unnoticed, my head down and my pace quickening, but one of them called out to me.

"Hey, you!" His voice was sharp and mocking. "What's the rush?"

I ignored him, hoping they would lose interest. But they didn't. The leader of the group, a burly man with a cruel glint in his eyes, stepped into my path, blocking my way.

"Where do you think you're going, huh?" he sneered. "Too good to talk to us?"

"I'm just trying to get home," I muttered, avoiding his gaze.

"Home?" He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You look like you don't even have a home. Just a sad, pathetic loser wandering the streets."

The others joined in his laughter, their taunts echoing in my ears. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of fear and anger rising within me. I tried to step around him, but he shoved me back, his strength far greater than mine.

"Not so fast," he said, his tone menacing. "We were just starting to have fun."

Before I could react, he punched me in the stomach, the force of the blow doubling me over. Pain exploded through my body, but I had no time to recover. Another punch landed on my jaw, sending me sprawling to the ground. The world spun around me, my vision blurring with tears and pain.

They descended on me like vultures, their fists and feet raining down blows with merciless precision. I curled into a ball, trying to protect myself, but it was no use. The pain was overwhelming, each strike tearing through me like a blade. I could hear their laughter, their jeers, but it all seemed distant, like a nightmare I couldn't wake from.

At some point, I must have lost consciousness. When I came to, the world was dark and silent. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, and I could feel the cold seeping into my bones. My entire body throbbed with pain, each breath a struggle. I tried to move, but my limbs were unresponsive, my strength completely drained.

Time passed in a haze of agony and disorientation. I was vaguely aware of someone approaching, their footsteps echoing through the empty streets. A figure loomed over me, and I squinted through swollen eyes, trying to make out who it was.

"Eleanor?" My voice was barely a whisper, more a plea than a question.

She looked down at me, her expression a mixture of shock and disgust. "What happened to you?" she demanded, her voice cold and detached.

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. The pain was too great, and my mind was slipping back into darkness. I felt her grab my arm, her grip strong and unyielding.

"Get up," she ordered, but I couldn't. My body refused to obey, the pain too overwhelming.

With a frustrated sigh, she bent down and heaved me to my feet, half-dragging, half-carrying me through the streets. The journey back to the house was a blur of pain and cold, each step sending fresh waves of agony through my battered body.

When we finally reached the house, she shoved me inside, her face a mask of irritation. "You're pathetic," she spat. "Can't even walk on your own."

She dragged me through the house, the warmth and light a stark contrast to the cold darkness outside. But there was no comfort here, only more pain and humiliation. She pulled me into the living room and let go, and I collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.

"Stay there," she commanded. "I don't want you dirtying up the furniture."

I lay there, my body trembling with pain and exhaustion. The floor was unforgiving, its coldness seeping into my bones. Eleanor stood over me for a moment, her eyes filled with contempt.

"You're a disgrace," she said, her voice low and venomous. "I don't know why I even bother with you."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone in the darkness. The pain was overwhelming, my body a mass of bruises and cuts. I could feel the sting of tears on my cheeks, but I didn't have the strength to wipe them away.

I lay there, listening to the sounds of the house. Eleanor's footsteps as she moved through the rooms, the hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of the television. It all seemed so normal, so mundane, while I lay there on the floor, broken and forgotten.

The hours passed slowly, each one an eternity of pain and misery. I couldn't sleep, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but endure. The coldness of the floor seeped deeper into my bones, and I shivered uncontrollably, my body wracked with spasms of pain.

At some point, Eleanor must have gone to bed. The house grew silent, the only sound my own ragged breathing. I was utterly alone, abandoned in my suffering. There was no escape, no hope, no end to the torment.

I closed my eyes, wishing for the darkness to take me, to end the pain once and for all. But even that small mercy was denied me.

The cold, hard floor was unforgiving against my battered body. I could feel the sticky warmth of blood seeping from my wounds, pooling around me and soaking into the pristine white tiles of the living room. Each breath was a struggle, each movement sent fresh waves of pain through me. I had lost track of time, the hours bleeding into one another in a haze of agony and despair.

Morning light filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. The house slowly came to life, the distant sounds of Eleanor preparing for her day as the CEO of Lynchpin Cosmetics echoing through the halls. My body felt like it was on fire, every inch of me throbbing with pain.

The door to the living room swung open, and Brenda, Eleanor's mother, entered. Her eyes immediately locked onto the bloodstains on the floor, her face twisting into an expression of disgust and fury.

"What in God's name is this?" she screeched, her voice piercing through the fog of my pain. "You're bleeding all over my expensive flooring!"

I tried to speak, to explain, but my voice was barely a whisper. "I'm... I'm sorry..."

"Sorry?" Brenda's voice rose in pitch, her anger palpable. "You're a pathetic excuse for a man! A useless, poor, live-in son-in-law! You haven't earned a single penny since you married into this family. All you do is bring us shame and trouble!"

She advanced on me, her face contorted with rage. "Do you know how much this flooring costs? More than you could ever hope to earn in your miserable life! You're nothing but a burden, a parasite sucking the life out of this family!"

Her words cut deeper than any of the physical wounds I had endured. I felt a fresh wave of tears welling up, but I had no strength to stop them. Brenda's tirade continued, her voice a relentless assault on my already fragile spirit.

"Look at you," she spat, gesturing to my blood-soaked form. "You're a disgrace! Eleanor should have left you on the street where you belong. Instead, she's stuck with you, dragging you around like dead weight. Do you think any of this is fair to her?"

I couldn't respond. The pain, both physical and emotional, was too overwhelming. I lay there, my blood continuing to seep into the floor, my body trembling with the effort to stay conscious.

As if on cue, Eleanor walked in, dressed immaculately for another day at the office. She glanced at me, her expression one of cold indifference. "Mother, what's all the noise about?"

Brenda turned to Eleanor, her face a mask of righteous indignation. "Look at this! He's bleeding all over the place, ruining my floors! This is the thanks we get for letting him stay here."

Eleanor's gaze flicked to me, her eyes hard. "Just get him out of the way, Mother. I don't have time for this. I have a meeting in an hour."

Brenda huffed, but nodded. "Fine, but this is the last straw, Eleanor. He needs to go. He's nothing but trouble."

Eleanor shrugged, her attention already shifting to her phone. "We'll talk about it later. I have to go."

With that, she turned on her heel and left, the click of her high heels fading into the distance. Brenda remained, glaring down at me with undisguised loathing.

"You heard her," she snapped. "Get up. Clean this mess before you make things worse."

I tried to move, but my body wouldn't cooperate. The pain was too much, and my vision was starting to blur. Brenda's face swam in and out of focus, her voice becoming a distant echo.

"Useless," she muttered. "Completely useless."

The darkness was closing in, my strength failing me. I could hear Brenda's footsteps retreating, her voice fading as she walked away. The last thing I saw was the blood spreading across the floor, a stark reminder of my worthlessness.

I was alone, abandoned to my suffering, left to rot on the cold, hard floor of my in-laws' villa. There was no hope, no rescue, only the relentless, unending pain. And as the darkness finally took me, I couldn't help but think that perhaps this was what I deserved all along.