Serafina's pov:

The air in the house always felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me, suffocating me. It wasn't just the smell of stale beer or the damp, rotting wood—it was something deeper. It was the weight of knowing I wasn't safe.

I lay on my mattress, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster for the hundredth time. My body ached in a dozen places, but I was used to it. The pain had become a constant, like a dull hum in the background of my life.

I tried to distract myself with the lighthouse photo taped to the wall. It was the only thing in this room that felt like mine, the only thing that gave me a shred of peace. I imagined myself there, standing by the water, the salty breeze in my hair. I imagined being free.

The creak of the floorboards outside my door snapped me out of my thoughts. My chest tightened, and I held my breath, listening. Every step Gary took was a reminder that I was never truly alone—not in this house.

But the footsteps faded, and I let out a shaky breath. For now, I was safe.

I tried to remember a time before this house, but it was like trying to grab smoke. My memories from before the Millers were blurry, just flashes of laughter, warmth, and love. A woman's voice, soft and sweet, whispering a name I couldn't quite hear.

It didn't matter. Whoever I was before, that girl didn't exist anymore.

Linda's voice echoed from downstairs. "Sophie! Dinner!"

Dinner. That meant sitting at the table with them, enduring Gary's muttered insults and Linda's fake smiles. I didn't want to go, but I knew what would happen if I didn't.

I pushed myself up, biting back a wince as my ribs protested. Pulling my hoodie tighter around me, I made my way downstairs.

The kitchen smelled like burned spaghetti and cheap garlic bread. Linda plopped a plate in front of me without a word, her bony fingers tapping impatiently on the counter. Gary was already at the table, drinking another beer, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

I ate in silence, keeping my head down. The less I was noticed, the better.

"Did you finish cleaning the bathroom?" Linda snapped, her voice sharp.

"Yes," I murmured.

"Speak up!" Gary barked, slamming his hand on the table.

"Yes, I did," I said louder, my voice trembling.

"Good. At least you're useful for something," Linda muttered.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept eating, ignoring the way my hands shook.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay curled up on my mattress, staring at the lighthouse photo. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the emptiness in my chest. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. Tears wouldn't fix anything.

Instead, I whispered to the darkness, my voice barely audible. "Whoever you are... wherever you are... please find me."

It was stupid, I knew that. No one was coming for me. No one even knew I existed.

But somewhere deep inside, a tiny flicker of hope refused to die. It was the only thing that kept me going, the only thing that made me believe there was more to life than this.

Omniscient Pov:

Far away, in a car speeding toward Michigan, two men dressed in sharp suits sat in tense silence. Dante Romano checked his phone for the third time, his jaw tightening.

"Relax," Enzo said, his younger brother's voice calm but firm. "We'll find her."

Dante's eyes darkened. "She's been suffering for ten years, Enzo. That's on us. When we find her, I'm making sure they pay."

Enzo nodded, his hand resting on the gun holstered under his jacket. "We all will."

And as they drove through the night, Serafina's whispered plea hung in the air like a promise.